Does anyone know why the 'e' is left out of the words tumblr and flickr?
Whenever I used to look through my clothes deciding what to wear, I would frequently get the feeling that elves had snuck into my wardrobe at night and replaced everything with ugly things that looked horrible on me. Shopping makes me come over all Rebecca Bloomwood, I can feel my pulse racing the moment I step into Anthropologie. This may account for some of my historical inexplicable decisions made under harsh flourescent lighting about what to buy.
These days, I love my clothes. Maybe because I have so few of them in Canada compared to at home. It's still true that my outfits could double as costumes for intrepid circus performers - I like colour and print and texture. I'm not afraid to mix them. For the first time though, I feel like I'm dressing as myself, and I get slightly sad thinking that there is no record of this era when I am snuggled up cosily in hats and cardigans like I jumped out of a Christmas time Gap ad or I'm swathed in silky flippy skirts and layered in jewels and chains.
There is no record because there is no one on hand to take photos of me. Taking pictures of myself resluts in something too close up with one fat arm (the arm holding the camera). I need someone as devoted to me and my wardrobe as I am. My beautiful friend who is soon to be a bride, let's call her Bridal Betty Page since her style channels icons of the past with a lovely freshness and effortlessness, has a love/hate relationship with the Black Apple. The woman behind the Black Apple is so into her clothes she documents many of her outfits. BBP's irritation stems from the sideward coy glance that every single photo of the Black Apple incorporates while I am just envious of all her shopping at clothing heaven Anthropologie.
I also recently stumbled onto Fit For A Femme. This interests me even though I hate the word 'femme' and loathe to use is to describe myself. It brings to mind only 'femme fatale' which instead of 'hot' makes me think 'I am going to have sex with you and then bite your head off' like a praying mantis. Ugh. Anyway I was interested in what a self confessed femme wears as well as other peoples' self obsession (being rather self obsessed myself). Fit for a Femme is married so she clearly has someone on hand to document her cute outfits and cover girl poses. I was struck by the sheer number of pictures and FFF's personal exposure. I was raised in a climate (family/culture) where modesty is prized, obsession is impolite. Genorosity and interest in others is important so surely admitting to your own total fasciantion with yourself is not on, and neither is your need for other people to love you as much as you do.
There is a lyric I have been thinking about a lot recently, in Floorplan (Tegan and Sara) that goes 'I want your lungs to stop working without me.' Somehow it's ok to admit these things in art and no one is freaked out, because maybe everyone secretly feels that way sometimes. I'm feeling powerfully inspired lately, to not only dress as myself, but also to be myself, so maybe art will become the focus of my narcissism. As well as this blog, haha.
Showing posts with label clothes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label clothes. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Aesthetics
I never gave much thought to the fact I have turned out to be an aesthetically focused person.
That was until I rocked up in a location where it's apparent I am the only one.
Obviously there have to be some other people who care about design or fashion or style (in any context) in the locality, but it's possible they are all tucked away working in the studios of the Emily Carr Institute to make any visible impact on the city.
It really matters to me how things look. If you've ever seen my hair 20 minutes after I've washed it or observed the state of my room you might laugh at this, but it's true. I once had a boy tell me, after I grimaced repeatedly at his baseball cap (he wasn't American or a baseball player - so what gives?) that I could wear a bin bag and he wouldn't care. Although the sentiment was the kind of thing girls everywhere long to hear after being bored to tears by prescriptive girly magazines with only one idea of 'cute' .... I wasn't impressed. You should care, is what I thought.
Advanced aestheticism is one of the traits that make us human after all.
All this preamble leads to the small and dull point that I hate wearing trainers. I wear them to walk the dog and even though it's true they surround my feet in cushiony bliss, they turn every single outfit into something straight from a very unfortunate council estate/trailerpark. For a start the pair I have here are ugly. The lady of the house I work for sold them to me as she had just bought them and didn't like them. It was one of those weird moments where she was all 'You can try these' as if she would lend them to me, but then quoted me a price.
They're not even my actual size, but they seemed to fit, and in all honesty it was the thought of shopping for trainers filling me with despair that made me accept her offer and take them off her hands.
Yesterday I wore an adorable floral pinafore with an A-line skirt and a top with cute metal fasteners. Then I put the trainers on. I looked down to see I had been transformed into a chubby chick in a tennis dress. (I have not been able to stop eating since I arrived. I don't look much different but my face is slightly moonier and my stomach has a small protective barrel encircling it. Plus that pinafore always gives me a bountiful rack where no such rack exists.)
That was until I rocked up in a location where it's apparent I am the only one.
Obviously there have to be some other people who care about design or fashion or style (in any context) in the locality, but it's possible they are all tucked away working in the studios of the Emily Carr Institute to make any visible impact on the city.
It really matters to me how things look. If you've ever seen my hair 20 minutes after I've washed it or observed the state of my room you might laugh at this, but it's true. I once had a boy tell me, after I grimaced repeatedly at his baseball cap (he wasn't American or a baseball player - so what gives?) that I could wear a bin bag and he wouldn't care. Although the sentiment was the kind of thing girls everywhere long to hear after being bored to tears by prescriptive girly magazines with only one idea of 'cute' .... I wasn't impressed. You should care, is what I thought.
Advanced aestheticism is one of the traits that make us human after all.
All this preamble leads to the small and dull point that I hate wearing trainers. I wear them to walk the dog and even though it's true they surround my feet in cushiony bliss, they turn every single outfit into something straight from a very unfortunate council estate/trailerpark. For a start the pair I have here are ugly. The lady of the house I work for sold them to me as she had just bought them and didn't like them. It was one of those weird moments where she was all 'You can try these' as if she would lend them to me, but then quoted me a price.
They're not even my actual size, but they seemed to fit, and in all honesty it was the thought of shopping for trainers filling me with despair that made me accept her offer and take them off her hands.
Yesterday I wore an adorable floral pinafore with an A-line skirt and a top with cute metal fasteners. Then I put the trainers on. I looked down to see I had been transformed into a chubby chick in a tennis dress. (I have not been able to stop eating since I arrived. I don't look much different but my face is slightly moonier and my stomach has a small protective barrel encircling it. Plus that pinafore always gives me a bountiful rack where no such rack exists.)
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