I remember being very young, maybe 4 or so, trying to describe something to mother, with which I had no words. I gestured, I pointed, I tried to find similar words. Such frustration, the limitations of unknown language.
Similarly, without language, I venture into fashion. What to call what is loved, without the words to name and summon the concept/design?
Have you ever had clothes hum to your frequency? When you know that, it is The One. The favorite shirt, the worn-to-shreds jacket? The hoodie you’ll never let go, no matter how much your significant other tries to toss it on your behalf? The one you’d dig through the trash to retrieve?
‘Xactly. The clothes I loved were as Neo to the Matrix.
Yes, they were expensive. Yes, it made my conservative parent break out in hives.
And, no, they never let me own it.
The clothes that I wear now are not me. I’ve been struggling, wondering, storming the look that is “harmonic”. The body beneath displayed by the clothes above. Elevation to workplace attire, breathing within the expectations.
Trying to find the unisex, to understand how to construct that look and effectively carry it through.
Within all this fabric, there must be my concept…
Ironically, a book returned a forgotten love. The author described something called bondage pants…whatever the hell that was. Had me running screaming and speculating for google.
And that’s when I found it.
It was like an embrace from an old friend.
Aren’t they gorge!! Ahem- I mean, aren’t they cool?
And I wants those boots…
These are hitting my “To buy list”.
So… you mentioned house. Did you buy one?
No, but house music is soo awesome!!! Found it this (2014-15 ish) year between melodic dubstep and techno/trance.
It’s like a clash between classic melody and rhythmic joy.
Never too late in life to enjoy Tripp pants or discover new music.