Anyone else hurtin for a makeover? Every once in a while I feel thrown into an intermediate phase (even though every moment belongs to a phase that is impossibly intermediate) and flounder in the insincerity of the 'aesthetic' with which I am currently, accidentally, shamefully associated. Times like these illustrate the self-automating nature of the 'aesthetic' and its role on the internet; I don't need to actively perform it every individual instance I get online. It is already in motion, working in real time to constitute the overall photograph of my 'brand.' My eyes don't have to be processing 'instagram' as information for me to be on instagram. Someone else is looking at my profile when I'm not, and the still lives I upload dance for them without my enthusiastic participation but certainly with my permission. What makes me most insecure is that permission is not static -- it is dynamic and animate. I permit every second I allow images of me to remain, I permit every second I allow my profile to exist without intervention. I authorize the disingenuous aesthetic associated with my online identity by simply not putting a stop to it. So even though I'm not on instagram right now uploading a photo I don't like that much, the crisis is the same... people are still processing the information already present, judging me accordingly, coloring me in with the hues I provide because I don't put them away. I hate that I allow this to go on... more, I hate that I don't overwrite it with material I do enjoy instead.
This outfit reminds me of a Dior campaign... modish, feminine, bridal but young and rebellious. I fashioned the headwrap out of a pink sheath and flower pin then paired it with earrings from 2001 that actually look like they're from 1960s. Lately I've been pushing myself to explore more DIY approaches to accessorizing... picking out a floppy hat and sunglasses isn't creative enough anymore. Pairing a brooch with a sheet of fabric and tying it together with matching jewelry and lipstick feels so much more rewarding when the result is something as seamless and recognizable as this. The flower girl grows up and gets married... she's in a perfume advertisement, she's bohemian but sponsored...
Chicwish dress, Valentino bag, Dailylook heels
Everything is infinite,
Bebe
Can we take a moment to appreciate the color coordination happening here? See, color coordination isn't a 'thing.' It's an event, and we're watching it 'be' in these still photographs. Peach stairs, peach petal print. Ivory banister, ivory blouse. Autumnal mustard and dusty rose accenting floral details in these peony patterned leggings from Redbubble. I've decided today that I want to spend the rest of my life playing with clothes in large piles, ideally in a warehouse loft with enormous windows through which the smell of perfume and incense does not escape. Oh. How I long for a sprawling room lined with mannequins awaiting their adornment.
For those who aren't familiar -- Redbubble is an e-commerce marketplace that offers visual artists the opportunity to sell their work either as is or on products like pillows, t-shirts, iPhone cases, mugs, and more. Peep the selection, but be warned... it's huge!!
For a more apparel-centric shopping experience, explore Lalalilo, the retailer behind this cute crochet blouse. I found a heavenly selection of beach clothes in their inventory, including this resort-style dress I'll debut later. <3
ZeroUV sunglasses, Anthropologie scarf, Lalalilo ivory chiffon blouse, Redbubble "peony" leggings, Mulberry bag, Ralph Lauren pumps
Everything is infinite,
Bebe
When you hang out with me, you're also hanging out with my outfit. Bringing this up because the coat I posted about yesterday reminded me of an old friend (male, of course) who almost always felt uncomfortable being seen with me in my opulent faux furs, animal prints, and sequined hats. For obvious reasons; the fashionably unacquainted man assumes all lavishly dressed women are looking for the attention of 'potential buyers.' First of all, that is a myth, as most sex workers are undetectable and dress like anyone else. They don't have the privilege of looking too conspicuous. Second of all, insinuating that I look like a sex worker doesn't offend me or make me want to change my clothes. 'Sex worker' isn't, or at least shouldn't be, a pejorative. I know many very intimately, and the crazy thing is, so did my uncomfortable male friend. He simply didn't know because he didn't ask. So for future reference, I don't have time for the implicitly classist comments about my look, even if they are delivered in jest.
Unapologetically, this is me. Thriving in flashy metallics, plush whites, and Bruce Jenner's beautiful aviator aura.
24 HRS holographic snapback, OASAP crop sweater, Style Moi holographic wrap skirt, Alexander Wang bag, PinkBrix rings
Everything is infinite,
Bebe
I think I've crossed a threshold in my blogging experience wherein I no longer expect anything to come out of my content creation. When I started out, there was a purpose: to get people's attention. And once I had their attention, another purpose emerged: to monetize my popularity. I was successful in my pursuits, but only for so long. While many bloggers were and are able to maintain their rate of production and profits, I am not one of them. I attribute this to my own failure to put money into my blog: I never paid a web developer to design me a more sophisticated layout, I never bought my own domain, I never traveled to New York for fashion week, I never hired a photographer to take my pictures. I remained "DIY" at the expense of my potential to thrive. Like anyone who missed the boat on an incredible opportunity to build an empire out of their access, I have my share of regrets. I could have translated "Fated To Be Hated" into a commercial endeavor generating enough ad revenue and collaboration fees to constitute a salary. I could have even set more modest goals, like aiming for a cool $1000/month. But not even that came into fruition. Nonetheless, for 99% of the time my blog has existed, I have been able to at least exchange sponsored garments for cash. The other 1% of the time includes the first couple months of my blog's existence -- and now.
I hope that my blog's commercial failure is a creative blessing in disguise. I have only the clothes I started out with left (yes, the same pieces you saw in 2010) which means I must tap into a place of complete sincerity. There are no sponsors to appease and there are no liabilities. I have absolutely nothing to lose. And I am not obligated to blog about things I don't genuinely like just because I can flip them for ten bucks on eBay.
Hopefully this is the beginning of a new life for me and my platform. A fresh opportunity for me to create, for free, with as much expressive recklessness as I see fit. I have no expectations of monetization -- and that's liberating, not a disappointment. All the labor I put into this blog must satisfy ME, because no gratification will come from anticipating validation or payment from others. I am untethered to everything but my Desire.
80s Purple mirrored shades, Romwe sequin eye sweater & blouse, vintage Minnie Mouse jorts from The Dog Show, Under Construction platform boots c/o Echo Club House, Pink Brix Kelly skull earrings + Coco ring
Everything is infinite,
Bebe
In my five years of writing a whole lot about absolutely nothing, I've discovered that it is really easy to like things. A fashion blogger's default emotion is 'loading justification..." -- She is always generating a reason to like something she owns or sees or is offered. And generating a reason to dislike something she can't have. And then when she has it, she generates a reason why she was wrong, another reason why she likes it now, another reason why you should want it too.
Fashion blogging has never been about sustainability: it blossom/s/ed from the novelty of apparel, not the usefulness of it. But given the technocentrism of the past several decades, "aesthetic delight" is not a good enough reason to fund an endeavor with labor and time. An urgency to imbue 'the love of things' with practical meaning surfaced and consequently, liking anything has become a performance with purpose: a gallant charade to foreshadow necessary identity. Liking things is an exercise in the creation of the self. It is the motion of "style."
While affirming the self and strengthening a sense of personal power, "style" also engenders a motivation to justify. Because we socially agree that our style is a picture of us, we internalize that it is about us. And we are driven to explain every choice (this hat over that headband, these heels instead of those flats) because we want each outfit to seem like it accurately describes our selfhood. The trouble is, we don't actually get to choose our style. Capitalism does. So we end up devising extremely personalized, qualic reasons for purchases and outfits and makeup routines after the decision has already been made for us. Everything happens afterwards. And it happens in defense of an invisible economic force.
The fashion blog is a platform for these justifications. It soothes the author, who is better able to veil her material exploitation in the rhetoric of "I'm just doing my job," and it soothes the consumer, who is able to use whatever reasons generated by the author for the service of rationalizing her own surfeit desires. But perhaps the most potent function of a fashion blog is its propagation of the idea that style is "purpose-serving." Utility, or at least the image of it, transforms frivolity into function. We conclude that fashion must be practical. It must communicate a message. Otherwise... it's a vain mess of ego and resource deprivation. Or better, or worse.
The problem with framing style as "purpose-serving" is the possibility that we might include material self-expression in our constitution of subsistence. Material self-expression has nothing to do with subsistence. It is a luxury. Yes, it serves a purpose. But not a purpose that pertains at all to maintaining survival. We tend to reference utility to prevent the threat of deprivation. The more you need something, the easier it is to persuade someone out of taking it away. So by describing material style as a useful tool, our excess is protected under the clause of pragmatism. And as we all know, pragmatism and love of beauty are what make humans civilized. Material style is very well guarded by the rhetoric of postindustrialism, and consequently... all the ugliness that accompanies excess is insulated.
There's a downside to the admission that style is frivolous, too. But I've already filled up half the page with my errant drivel and accomplished what I set out to do: appear to justify blogging about my outfit by including useful thoughts. HA.
Choies mod moto jacket, Yes Style harem pants, Missguided canvas sneakers
Everything is infinite,
Bebe
