may this blog be forever remembered as a shallow confession, a blip in an otherwise consistent quest for some depth in life. it’s appropriate that this outburst comes before the blog ends, because otherwise i would have been holding out on you.
i just saw ‘the devil wears prada’ and walked away, i fear, with the wrong message.
anyone who is close to me knows about my little penchant for drawing. not just anything but women in a variety of stages of dress and undress, the female form and futuristic clothing on it. i mostly am able to pretend that these drawings are mere doodles, even while it has been impossible for me to throw them away in the many cleansings and clearings of stuff. over the years some of the drawings have been horrible and some have been inspired, in my opinion. occasionally, i veered away from the pure clothing drawings and tried to tackle other subjects, or at least genders…but i always come back to a long leg, tight waist, impossible breasted figure wrapped in lines that i knew were leather or chiffon, the shade of a morning-after sunrise.
my favorite famous women are those who always always look prepared to be themselves in the world.
my own sense of style has been the insignificant combination of what i could afford and what i could fit into, ten sizes beyond high fashion, tending towards comfort and an adoration of items no one else has. girls who feel fat/ugly/not enough often do wacky instead of wow. i’ve made all the mistakes: big prints, african mumus, baggy everything, broom skirts, two seasons of ripped and reconstructed t-shirts…which i must admit i still favor. i have never known the confidence i am now experiencing in who i am, so it is with no small joy that i look forward to the next phase of my fashion life.
but up until now, i have experienced my love of fashion by surrounding myself with people who know how to bring sophistication to their daily grind. my friend sofia, who has forbidden me to write about her, has the flawless ability to see the right choice…when she chooses to, we are all in a bistro in paris during fashion week just by her deigning it. shane dresses so well it’s almost possible to forget his beauty. i have watched jen blossom into the kind of style that makes you catch your breath when you see her. both of my sisters know themselves deeply and dress the part. evans: waist up or waist down, never disappoints me. janine throws a pashmina and a skirt on and the day job disappears. dear little sarah’s style makes me giggle with joy and anticipate seeing her, just to see what she has thrown together – my new friend renna is able to do the same. dani mcclain always makes me wish i had thought to dress up, but she just can’t help her impenetrable style.
when i miss new york, part of it is missing the feeling of having my hair up, a good bag on my arm and sexy shoes on my feet (rare, but it has happened) and popping my tail down a new york street so hard i should have dislocated my beyonce.
someone recently implied that i had done such a good job with not caring about how i looked that she was shocked to see i had a closet full of nice things. i had to wince, and resist the urge not to lecture on the laziness of perfecting the look everyone else has, how important it is to have your own style. i couldn’t say that, because i have been so blase about developing and enforcing mine. in the world i live in, it shouldn’t matter, and some of us act like we don’t care. still, a perfect fabric, a perfect cut, a perfect pair of jeans or a gorgeous gorgeous shoe and the mask falls for a second, the pretense suspended, "that’s just right".
my friend davey d has said many times that it is crucial to understand how far good fashion can take an organizer who understands it. some things are universal, even if people don’t understand why. a woman who knows how to present herself is hard to dismiss, and who in the work we do can afford to be dismissed right now. is it a stretch to say understanding your fashion sense could change the world? yes…lol…yes it is. but so what!
this movie, which i’m sure was meant to be about integrity and a work ethic, had the effect of making me hungry for the world of my drawings, the long lines and impossible curves and quiet, breathtaking elegance of women warriors who are changing the world and being sexy and know how to laugh…these have been the women i admire but have never actually aspired to for myself. i have cleaned out my closet according to comfort, and i think the time has come to go through it again and rid myself of anything that doesn’t make me feel, at minimum, remarkable and together.
i know i know. i am not a drawing, and my drawings will likely never be sewn into the couture line of figures constantly marching through my head to songs i have written before hopping into cars i’ve imagined to head to homes i’ve decorated with art i made. still, it takes less than that to express the goddess. fashion at it’s best is a presentation of the dream, i commit to being more dreamy in the coming year.
and for the haters, hate on – it’s not about the money, it’s not about the cost of a thing. that’s sort of a tacky, ugly sidebar unsurprising in this world. but the time and effort and imagination of presentation, of thinking of the perfect cover for the book, even if it’s only sometimes…that, i must admit, is exhilerating to me.
so. whew. that’s my confession. i fucking love love love fashion. now. back to your normal programming.