Showing posts with label fashion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fashion. Show all posts

Saturday, 1 October 2011

Fashion, freaks and frivolity

"Crazy ideas are better than too normal ideas."  Karl Lagerfeld

I suppose it was inevitable, having watched so much SATC recently, that I would feel drawn to flicking through fashion magazines and adapting what I've been wearing to be at least a little bit more adventurous.  Having a full day off to myself has done wonders.  A day off, on my own, in my little flat.  I almost never thought I'd get to enjoy this kind of delight.  As such, I had time to both catch up on sleep and read, oh my god, read newspapers, magazines and online articles (see THIS  fashion page linked to the Chicago Tribune site.  Picture number 9 is of a girl with a mismatched set of colours and layers, someone after my own heart) - what a revelation!  I feel so much better for it.  I even had time to form a little idea of how to at least try to improve my circumstances, and even play the keyboard, so I feel like I'm getting back to my old self.

Last night I spoke to the architect about how I'd been discussing an article in the Czech version of Elle, on the last page, written by a well-known Czech actress, Ana Geislerová, and I said how funny it is that she gets to write a monthly column.  The architect personally thinks she's nine tenths a prostitute, which, given her recounting numerous lovers in her latest article is perhaps only an exaggeration, rather than an outright character defamation, but he rested his case that of course a well-known actress would get a column in a fashion magazine, because she will help tell women what to wear.  And this, he attested, is what fashion magazines are all about: getting women to feel inadequate and buy more stuff.

I can't say I disagree all that much, except I know that in my case, buying a fashion magazine, if it's any good, gets me to try to adapt what things I already have to wear them in more interesting ways or try a free make-up trick (rare, as actually, I  usually avoid the 'beauty' pages because the word itself puts me off) or keep me up to date on the latest film/music/literature releases.  I simply can't afford to go out and buy anything as a result of what I see in the magazine.  (Quite frankly, the purchase of the magazine in itself usually uses up the last of my disposable income and causes me to re-think another trip to Tesco to get more food, opting to scale down on bread and anything nice and try to live off apples and cereal for a bit longer instead.)

So in light of this, I wondered how guilty I should feel about my terrible fashion magazine addiction.  I don't buy magazines every month, but some months (such as September) I might buy two, so it's the equivalent of one a month I suppose.  I also bought more in August, because I wanted something to read while travelling and I wanted to enjoy a week 'on holiday' so I did holiday things.  Plus, I wanted to buy a couple of Czech magazines to get me to look up and learn some more vocab.  But is the architect right, and I'm merely being caught in a pre-organised industry trap, which seeks to do me out of all my remaining money and make me feel insecure enough to buy more stuff when I can?  Well, largely, no.  Because I simply don't have money for clothes anyway, and I can use some articles from the magazines I've bought as meet-ee fodder, so it's not entirely wasted money.  And when I do have enough time to really look through some interesting pages of fashion, I actually feel inspired to do other things too.

Like, for instance, today, I had already leafed through pages of shoes, and found some delightful piano-print ones in Paris Vogue, but that didn't influence what I wore.  I nonetheless felt inspired to dress more eccentrically and put on some purply pink things because I was in the mood for colour and something non-classic today.  A couple of weeks ago I got a surprise package from the Russian Countess with two pairs of earrings in it, so I've been wearing one pair on and off most of the time, but decided to try the super-big purply ones today. 



It worked.  I felt so much better.  And that in turn, lead me to play the keyboard and sing a few made up little bits of nonsense that also made me feel more alive.

A month or so ago, I watched this video from Harper's Bazaar (see it HERE) and felt comforted and reassured, because all the famous designers in it seemed like such freaks (with one or two exceptions) and I laughed at the strange little fantasy world they get to live in and how they are allowed to live like a crazy person and it's ok.  So my being an eccentrically dressed nobody in Prague is hardly the crime of the century, right?  It's good to know that there are indeed even weirder people than me out there. 

Sunday, 20 March 2011

Resistance, rewards and leg-warmers

"Is it enough to live in hope that one day we'll be free? Without this fear...I'm going out and carrying on as normal..."  'Discoteca' (Pet Shop Boys)

I used to listen to this quite a bit in the days that followed the shock of finding out about ex-partner's new love.  Actually, I can barely remember the point at which it stopped being that horrific shock, the kind that stops you from eating, and became a more established sense of horror and loss.  I remember I got to a point where I could eat, I could 'carry on as normal' but nothing looked the same.  And even more so, as a musician, no song ever sounded the same.  There was a new sting to anything that was about break-ups or trauma of some kind.  I suddenly understood what it was like to have a three minute song sum up my empty little life.

I appreciated the 'run away' kinds of songs all the more, those that inspired me to start again.  But it took a long time for me to be able to feel anything but trapped inside a bubble of ridicule and abandonment.  So I listened to things on headphones as I travelled about in London and reinforced my little cocoon.  Sometimes I catch myself doing the same thing even now, but I'm mostly trying to establish a territory of resistance, a place of defiance, lest this unrewarding, life-stealing work I do swallow me up entirely.

I have snatched a few moments for fun and frolics, but not enough to have my sense of strength in my own, creative work re-established.  My things are still scattered about and my thoughts are intermittently focussed on escape fantasies and determined task-avoidance, but with a sense of entrapment about the week ahead.  I'm getting more and more infuriated at being asked to do more for no extra reward (I bet I'm not alone in this...) but I have to find a way to zone out from that resentment, because I can feel it eating away at me.

I want to at least be able to take an afternoon off to go for a coffee and sit and read newspapers and write something.  But there is no suitable 'afternoon-off' awaiting me.  Not for the foreseeable future.

So, in the meantime, I spent a day with the architect, which resulted in acquiring a new pair of jeans, since my old ones disintegrated just as I was leaving London.  And now, not only can I wear the jeans, but also a top I've been wanting to wear for ages, which just doesn't go with anything else!  Hurrah to good fortune and a most helpful shop assistant, willing to suggest countless possibilities until, having tried on at least 12 different pairs, I honed in on the best fitting pair I could find.  

With a little inspiration from a stupid action film [starring Nicholas Cage doing an uncanny impression of my dear friend, Mr. Byron II]  and a flourish of my own with some leg-warmers bought in New York (which coincidentally help cover up the fact that the leg is too long and needed serious folding to not drag on the floor) I have cheered myself up thus:



If fashion is frivolity and an indication of my deteriorating mind, then sobeit.  Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn.