my fashion life is lived vicariously now, totally disconnected from the girl i was in london... that fashion fearless freak frequently accosted by japanese tourists and style photographers, openly discussed on the tube, greeted with a nod of appraisal from soho to selfridges, snarled at by the teenage girl gangs whose trainer choices i adopted and adapted (i see your lily allen and raise you me in 1999), subject to many an eye roll, snigger and frown; noticed.
it's a certain sort of neediness, a certain sort of bravery. on the surface, i didn't care what other people thought, i was fierce. brimming with bravery, bold customisation and ill advised credit purchases; a prada punk. but of course i cared what people thought, deeply. i was interested in provoking a reaction of any sort, like a ten million and three bright young things before and after me. an art director that wanted me to work with him (in some mysterious and unspecified role) once accused me of purposefully channelling the imaginary love child of elizabeth taylor and sid vicious. i was outraged; i was secretly thrilled.
it's a certain sort of neediness, a certain sort of bravery. on the surface, i didn't care what other people thought, i was fierce. brimming with bravery, bold customisation and ill advised credit purchases; a prada punk. but of course i cared what people thought, deeply. i was interested in provoking a reaction of any sort, like a ten million and three bright young things before and after me. an art director that wanted me to work with him (in some mysterious and unspecified role) once accused me of purposefully channelling the imaginary love child of elizabeth taylor and sid vicious. i was outraged; i was secretly thrilled.
fay weldon wrote "there is nothing more glorious than to be a young girl and there is nothing worse than to have been one." of course i'll always affectionately deny that. i denied it as a young girl when i first read it. being a young girl certainly didn't often feel glorious aside from the anonymous pavement strutting. i'm happier now. but that freedom to wallow in supeficiality, the summoning of the chutzpah, the luxuriating in the reactionary whispers, sauntering past in feigned obliviousness... wasn't exactly wretched. there's been little opportunity for that recently. i still find that my seasonal wish/ must-buy list centres around the fashion forward, a former self. but my choices now, as i slide open the wardrobe door or stand in the cashier queue working out how i'm going to pay the rent after this, always lean towards the safe. i'm almost appalled at how affected i am by that.
boots by stella mccartney. i know.
boots by stella mccartney. i know.
.
Somehow I am not surprised. Not by any of it. I hope someday you reap the rewards.
ReplyDeletedum dum de dum de dum de dum de dum.....
ReplyDeletecarrie has kids.
I LOVE you!!!!
bitch! You're one of those people who can pull off clothes that make most look like a fashion victim.
ReplyDeleteoh and btw, when you find your former self, tell her my former self wants to hang with her...