I love clothing.
I love fabric.
I love well-cut lines, the swish of a good skirt, the shimmer of silk.
I love a classic black pump and a funky bootie.
I love black leather and brown leather and every other colour they can make it.
I love diamonds, topaz, pearls and yellow gold.
I believe that clothing is an opportunity. An opportunity to express oneself, their mood, their respect (or lack thereof).
Fashion is art: a vintage gown circa 1930, an art deco Harry Winston ring. I don’t aspire to own these things, I don’t lust after having them. I admire them as I would a painting in an art gallery.
Fashion says something about our society, about the world that we live in. The end of corsets or the boyish cut of the flappers, these things were important statements about times in our history.
Some days I channel Buffy circa 1997 with a short skirt, long sweater and clunky boots. I try to avoid the choker when I`m in this mood.
Some days I go country – brown leather, jeans, plaid.
Or Audrey with a LBD, classic pumps and giant sunglasses.
I like my hair long but I also like it short.
I hate to apply make-up but I feel pretty when I have it on.
I get attached to clothing. Picking up a dress from a decade ago brings back the memories of where I wore it, what I was doing, how much fun I had.
The problem is…
Clothing, accessories, hair, make-up.
They’re all kind of a crutch for me. When I get frustrated, when I get anxious, when I simply get tired of me and being me I want a new dress, new skirt, new jewelry, new shoes. I want something that will transform me into someone that I like better, or that I respect more. Someone prettier, someone smarter, someone thinner.
Most of the time shopping is just shopping. A need for new pants, or shoes, or bra.
But there are other days when I’m just sick of myself. And I shop because it makes me feel like I can change that which I do not like.
There are also days when I’m bored and craving a new reality. I shop because it makes me feel like I can shift something and get out of my rut.
It’s the same as TV, or an engrossing bad book, or a bucket of ice cream.
It’s all about numbing whatever it is that we need to numb.
There are days when I feel worse about myself because I looked through a Vogue, or fell in love with a dress not carried in my size, or couldn’t look the way I wanted to look.
It isn’t the fault of the clothing. Please don’t blame them.
I’m doing it less.
That’s the best I can ask for right now.