I mean, i enjoy dressing in general, more so than just for the benefit of being clothed (nudity is also nice, i've heard).
Outfit via Jezabel Carolina Rico (http://www.jezabelsvintage.etsy.com/).
The ritual of dressing is more than just swathing limbs in fabric. It can be a transformative practice; really game-changing in moments of doubt, or on days where you’re running on empty and it’s 9:30am. Wrap a turquoise scarf around your uncertainty and coordinate with matching brooch and (voila!) you’re sitting pretty for whatever style of curve-ball life decides to lob over your fence. That being said, naturally there are days when no amount of decoration is of use. Maybe life’s curve-ball landed on your freshly potted nasturtiums (nice aim, life), in which case grey, over-washed track pants are your man. But predominately, it works. Here, feast on this:
These women are fierce.
I don’t think it’s frivolous to care about fashion. Or vain, or shallow, or narrow-minded, for that matter. Rather, i find it liberating. I think it’s an instinctual thing to want to emulate styles from different eras; confuse the rules that dictate what is ‘done’ and what is ‘risqué’; distinguish yourself through your creative choices. Even if 'distinguishing' yourself means plunging your artistic flag in the sand with 75 000 other people who also happen to feel passionate about wearing socks with peep-toes: go forth. Enjoy having company in your camp. Sometimes camp can be lonely. Especially around April. And camps change frequently. Crickets may be chirping on the beach where your socks once featured brightly.
There is transient beauty in fashion. Don't discredit the seersucker pantsuit your mum wore in 1984. Her shoulder pads may have reached to the heavens and the fluffy fringe look may have been rife but she was HAVING A FUCKING MOMENT and it's probably immortalised forever in a photograph somewhere in a dusty album full of dead silverfish, also from 1984.
My mother and her best friend circa the late 80's/early 90's
Whether you like it or not, dress becomes entangled within your identity. This interests me greatly, and there are entire schools of topics I’d like to discuss with you surrounding ‘dress’ and ‘identity'. They’re currently swimming around in a ravine in my head. James Franco waves 'hello' from in there (with his good arm).
These topics include sustainable fashion, vintage and the lure towards it, the fast food-like production chain of fashion and consumerism in general (may be in the style of a rant/lament), assorted histories of fashion, and the life of garments.
This blog post is important because, peppered amongst views relating to global/local ethics, politics, music, art, literature, photography, philosophy, travel, and sewing, you'll find a lorry's worth of fashion-centred posts here (in the foreseeable future). These topics are very broad, and like your general practitioner, this blog may only be able to present a faint glimpse of knowledge into many different subject areas.
But that's okay, because with google you can diagnose yourself as whatever you like! So whether you're a liberal-minded Anthropology student with a minor in Portuguese and a love for acai bowls and Japanese beer, or an expectant mother with a degree in finance, a love for morning golf, and with six unwatered succulent pots on her windowsill: we're all friends here (we've all killed plants).
Chances are I like you already, so: welcome, and watch this space for more of the above.
Warmest,
Ali x
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