“fantasy is hardly an escape from reality. it’s a way of understanding it.” // l. alexander
an odd thing to admit, maybe, but i haven’t picked up a fashion rag in months.
with those monthlies comes an internal push and pull – of want, and then, what to do with them when you’re done?
i used to keep a few, (a few too many), the ones that felt special. the fat ones that came out in september, those that hurt your shoulders if you lugged them around in your shoulder bag for too long. the ones that featured some fantastic editorial, beyond the norm, or those that just spoke to me somehow.
there was a time, that they played such an integral part of my everyday, that a copy of french vogue, then still edited by carine roitfeld, played into how my then-boyfriend-now-husband, proposed the idea of getting into a white dress and playing house for the next five decades or so. i was devoted.
and then one day, packing, as we were moving house, i realized, this mountain of glossies had become a hindrance. it wasn’t economical, it’s wasn’t minimal; it was a heavy burden of copy, ink and paper cuts. they were brought to the curb, and i hope, recycled into something more useful, but no less beautiful.
i miss those moments, the ones whilst flipping through the pages when i had to bring the photo right up close to my face, as if to soak up some small piece of these weird and far-fetched chimera – the dreamscape of those who can see make-believe and bring it to reality.
perhaps just for old time’s sake, i’ll visit the presse international, and pick a little something up – just to see if it lives up to the memory.
“every cloud has its silver lining but it is sometimes a little difficult to get it to the mint.” // d. marquis
name one thing bleaker than the last week of january.
yeah, i didn’t think you could.
winter has settled into its four month stretch – the holidays have become a hazy recollection of cheer and boozy-steeped mirth; and spring seems a world away, whilst wrapped up in scarves and a hat pulled so far down your forehead, mascara becomes persona non grata and finds itself running high.
i know february doesn’t boast much, albeit candy hearts and chocolate in the shape of romance – but, i suppose february needs that much to get it through those 28 days, even worse this time around, because of that extra day.
for now, i’ll take solace in the silver lining of the now. hot coffee, quiet evenings, enormous sweaters; and the shiny promise of what’s to come.
“it is a mistake to think you can solve any major problems just with potatoes.” // d. adams
the fall of dominoes that begins with a spark to synapse, to a random thought, to a pared down idea, to when my fingers start hitting the keys is nothing more or less than four seconds and downright bemusing.
i’m not even sure how i ended up here, but i had an image of a potato – reminisced about the last time i ate a bit of gloriousness that is a lump of mashed potato; which then lead me here – the scalloped detail.
much like the ruffle, (which also, is another potato issue), a scallop’s never done much for me.* of course it’s too girlish, a mite twee; not at all laced with a hard enough edge for me to trip and fall over.
i suppose if i were able to put down the potato-thoughts for just a moment, i’d see the inherent seductiveness, in the smallest of doses, in these little clefts of fabric and pattern.
“anybody who knows me knows i would never read a comic book.” // t. burton
medium-strung, though i can be – i’m not wound up so tight that i’m not able to lean back and have a good guffaw at my very own expense. i am a very funny girl, after all.
i’m susceptible to sarcasm, the occasional bit of wit, and well, a dose of self-deprecation taken on the hour. i’m an avid admirer of the ridiculous, the occasionally profane, and more often than not, the somewhat dirty. what i am not, however, is an enthusiastic admirer of the comic, of the strip variety.
the humor – too obvious, the illustrations too ridiculous, the colours too bright. i like having to dig a bit to find the funny, and with comics it’s all a bit too apparent. perhaps it’s there where you’ll find the reasons why i don’t enjoy being obvious in the way i dress. it’s too showy, too loud; all too apparent for those around to see it.
that doesn’t mean i don’t want to see you in it though.