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LouieConfessions of the cloth
August 27th 2007 13:02
How long did it take you to get dressed today? I had planned what to wear today well in advance of tucking myself into bed last night. Of course, nothing ever goes to plan. I had chosen a Kinki Gerlinki tent dress with puff sleeves, made of alternating thin stripes of red and blue wool. It has Impressionist style tapestry flowers over it. Oh man, I love it. I usually wear it with a black cardigan, as the dress is enough on its own, but today I was just not content with said cardigan. I then spent the next half an hour trying to figure out what to cover my arms and their goosebumps with (I eventually settled for a black fitted spencer underneath). Trying to sleep through the wardrobe bangs and groans of despair, my boyfriend was witness to my little "episode". He was also witness to a much more panicked, and altogether (with the benefit of hindsight, of course) pathetic case of 'I have nothing to wear' a week earlier. This one lasted an hour, and as a result, I was late to university. Yes, readers, I was freaking out about what to wear to university.
When I admitted to a friend the shames of my shallow life, she confided that she too has days where she feels so uncomfortable she wants to "get off the train and go home". Her self-conscientiousness is also a result of the perils of attending a city university (but to be fair, she goes to a university dedicated to art theory, history and practice).
It's commonly known that fashion is communication, as we permit textiles and our bodies permission to discuss our likes, dislikes, preferred music, favourite films, religious devotion, professional aptitude, political opinions and sexual availability. Do people even notice when we're sending them a direct message regarding our personality? Should we even care whether people are making quasi-qualified conclusions about our person based on our attire? I mean, come on. Sometimes it's laundry day. In High Fidelity, Rob claims, "Books, records, films - these things matter. Call me shallow, but it's the damn truth."
Aesthetic pleasures are so easy to absorb. We're allowed to mingle with people that have intriguing art tastes, an incredible record collection or can say every line of every Kubrick film word for word, but are made to feel superficial for believing people are good for having good garments. Why can't I select potential friends based on their clothes? Judging a book by its cover can be fun, just as I like scoping out the style savvy at university, making a mental note on how to appropriate their style and be their friend.
But it should also be remembered that vision is the most impersonal sense, functioning over great differences, spatially and temporally. I have a few close friends who actually make my brain tick, that spike senses other than sight. Some of them even dress well. The day will come when I will wear tracksuit pants and no makeup to university...but I'll probably freak out that my shirt just doesn't go with my joggers.
When I admitted to a friend the shames of my shallow life, she confided that she too has days where she feels so uncomfortable she wants to "get off the train and go home". Her self-conscientiousness is also a result of the perils of attending a city university (but to be fair, she goes to a university dedicated to art theory, history and practice).
A terrifying species - the art/fashion student, image from stateofdesign.com.au
It's commonly known that fashion is communication, as we permit textiles and our bodies permission to discuss our likes, dislikes, preferred music, favourite films, religious devotion, professional aptitude, political opinions and sexual availability. Do people even notice when we're sending them a direct message regarding our personality? Should we even care whether people are making quasi-qualified conclusions about our person based on our attire? I mean, come on. Sometimes it's laundry day. In High Fidelity, Rob claims, "Books, records, films - these things matter. Call me shallow, but it's the damn truth."
Rob, High Fidelity. I like this guy. And his records. Image from bfi.org.uk
Aesthetic pleasures are so easy to absorb. We're allowed to mingle with people that have intriguing art tastes, an incredible record collection or can say every line of every Kubrick film word for word, but are made to feel superficial for believing people are good for having good garments. Why can't I select potential friends based on their clothes? Judging a book by its cover can be fun, just as I like scoping out the style savvy at university, making a mental note on how to appropriate their style and be their friend.
But it should also be remembered that vision is the most impersonal sense, functioning over great differences, spatially and temporally. I have a few close friends who actually make my brain tick, that spike senses other than sight. Some of them even dress well. The day will come when I will wear tracksuit pants and no makeup to university...but I'll probably freak out that my shirt just doesn't go with my joggers.
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