...ramblings of a fashionable sociopath

Friday, March 30, 2012

I hate cuh-lahs

Colors. ugghhhh...where to start?
When I was little I used to love them. I had oranges and reds, purples and greens. There was even a blue period, a la Picasso, that spanned several years and was saturated with shades of turquoise, cerulean and navy.
When I was a club kid my days were filled with neon pinks and greens...strangely enough my skin did not burn when they touched it.

Somewhere along the way black took over my life. The last decade has been black. True, there were attempts at color which consisted of bronze, olive, mocha, and white. There was exactly one red dress (worn twice).

Black is classic. It is slimming, sophisticated, dark...perhaps a bit intimidating? It's always so easy to pack and mix and match your outfits when everything is black. And believe me, I do mean EVERYTHING. It is Chanel and Maison Martin Margiela and Rick Owens and McQueen...

I like my style...I think it is truly mine, somewhat reflective of certain trends but not overtly "fashion slave."
                                     modern, asymmetric...CLEAN. 
                     Black is the absence of color and is thus as clean as it can get.

I don't exactly know why but lately I have been craving color. Perhaps the changes in my life have heralded a shift in my outlook...perhaps the incessant barrage from Vogue has finally gotten to me.

Aesthetically colors are pleasing. They are wild and loud and elicit some people. I, much like a moth to a flame, approach colorful things with apprehension yet without control. I try them on...I yearn to like them...but every time they are in my proximity they make me feel strange. Unnerving perhaps. They do not make me happy, they do not quite look like they did in my mind and they certainly don't integrate with my general appearance.

Last week I decided to grit my teeth and power through my fear and intimidation of this palette and I went on a mission to find COLOR. Countless hours and stores later I am in possession of one blindingly bright neon green jacket, pastel blue skinny jeans, coral nail polish and a cerulean mini skirt. I also managed to find a long forgotten intense violet silk mini-dress that may make the cut.

                                      I can do this. I can do THIS. I want to do this. 
Because people that wear color seem ok...they seem happy, and approachable, and perhaps even, interesting.

I will never and physically cannot abandon black. But at this time I feel a bit oppressed by it...trapped in its' grip - unable to move away from looking like a black cat...

I want to play in the sun with the happy kids...even if I'll end up sarcastically smirking at them from a shadowy corner. Bring on the Dali period...

Friday, March 2, 2012

A lazy morning

Day in Paris #3:

Today you woke up later then expected...perhaps it was because the rain drops softly thumped on the window pane lulling you to a dreamy haze...the sky is overcast but it is warm and breezy.

You grab a cup of coffee and head for a walk along the Seine. To some this is probably just a river. It can be a bit stagnant and sometimes murky. There are no sunbathers or row boats filled with Wasp-y graduates  in their pastel polos. An occasional riverboat slowly waddles by carrying along tourists taking pictures of every foot.

It is just a river you say. But you keep walking...each of the 37 bridges along the Seine are different..interesting...unique in their construction and appeal.
The Invalides bridge is spectacular.
You walk along the river past Notre Dame and cannot help but marvel at how beautiful "goth" can be. Pont Neuf peaks your the distance you get a peak of La Tour Eiffel.

You browse the books and art from centuries past that is sold by the bank on Sundays. Here perfectly preserved 18th century anatomy pages neighbor Marilyn Monroe kitchen magnets and post cards from the 20's. The banks are filled with people...couples in love, couple in rage, families.. and loners like you.

You don't notice but as you walk and stare at the water memories flood your consciousness. You feel fleeting sadness and happiness, nostalgic for a time that seems perfect through the looking glass of time. You feel calm and strangely happy.
This is the Paris not everyone will see. This Paris does not intimidate you with it's cornucopia of lights and is softer. Unobtrusive in it's elegance. Confident in it's timeless perfection.

This water has flown through these walls for centuries. It has seen flourishing kingdoms and gruesome has been saturated with blood and memories and managed to absorb them seamlessly beneath its weight. It is magnetic.
Strangely, you feel inspired to write capture this mood because you know that as soon as you walk away the hectic world will engulf you again and this brief glimpse into your own self will fade under the mandane tasks of the everyday.
You take a picture hoping that looking at it will remind you what you felt that day. How you were just walking along a river in this beautiful city enjoying a simple lazy morning...