la bohème

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Summer is finally shaping up. Which means bikinis, popsicles, cream and white and lace, the perpetual aroma of grilled meat in the air, and general dubiousness of coverage.

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Which means cowboy boots.

(I have a bruise, inconveniently)

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Garance Doré at one point explains that The Sartorialist doesn’t quite approve of cowboy boots because they are proportionally unflattering to the leg: where they hit on the leg, somewhere around the calf or in the inches beneath, is invariably shortening and widening, no matter how tall you are. I basically agree with this observation, they don’t elongate the leg, but a long leg is not the only path to charm.

I’m put in mind of the kind of fashion rules individuals impose on themselves for specific reasons; tall people (that is, people who think themselves too tall) who won’t wear shoes that add height, short people (ditto) who won’t be without shoes that add height, people who decide a certain color or shape is off the table, etc. This kind of thing, for me, must be determined on a case by case basis. These boots don’t make my legs look longer…but my legs aren’t especially short. No need for evasive maneuvers.

It is perhaps helpful to have one’s identity (as it relates to one’s body, at least) in place before delving too deeply into questions of style. Then again, questions of style can speak directly to questions of identity in many cases, and these things evolve together.

Like the age-old question, “does this make me look fat?”  Fat is a loaded term these days but even if it weren’t, this is a poor question. The real question behind this question (and behind the initial translation, something like “does this make my body look how I do not want it to look?”, or maybe “does this frame my body in a truthful way?” and “is that a truth I want to share?”)—and the question I ask myself—is, “does this fit?”

[And then, “do I like it?”]

Or like, “do these shoes make my feet look big?” Well, my feet are big. Bigger than average. Size 10. So, probably, yeah, they do. What else is to be expected? Such logic bypasses the formulation of the question. But this doesn’t seem to get at the real question, which rings of hazy insecurity and inadequacy. Big compared to what? Compared to whom? What is wrong with big?

These strike me as very complicated questions that get at murky issues of identity and image and control and the beauty myth (the myth pervading our culture that the way you look is under your control, if only you knew enough, spent enough, and moreover it is your responsibility as a woman to be as beautiful as possible, and here is a narrow definition of beauty here for your reference, and thanks, without you continued preoccupation with this goal the economy would collapse).

After all, I am proportional and healthy, and having a complex about this would be sad indeed.

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What was I saying? Oh, I like these boots.

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One’s own face looks so creepy from the side, no?

Crocheted cover-up (haha) from eBay, Red Carter bikini, boots from some Western Boot emporium in Colorado, Mulberry bag. On the lips, Body Shop Color Crush in Coral Cutie (a really lovely deep orange color. I like the texture as well, quite creamy and juicy). The blush is NARS Taj Mahal, which is a stunning gold-flecked burnt orange. Beautiful on the eyes as well. Earrings and cuff both gifts from GeekOutsider (thanks, CPL!).

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the full skirt

Do not look upon all this that I am telling you about the clothes
as uncalled for or spun out, for they have a great deal to do with the story.

                                     – Cervantes, Don Quixote

Some mornings I wake and wonder: if I could wear anything that day,  truly anything I want…what would I wear?

Then, I wear that.

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IMG_7800I recommend it.

There are certain eras of style that resonate with me, notably including the Victorian era (technically 1837-1901, a lot happened but I like the later years) and stages of early America, roughly the 1840s and extending maybe a decade on either side; the era of pioneers and the gold rush, of saloons and prairies.  We still have prairies…but I mean the ones after which the dresses are named. You know the ones.

I love this shape, the full A-line. I’m glad to see more and more knee and calf-length bell skirts out and about (see minute 1:45), and plan to get in on that, too.  I embraced the historic aspect here, pairing the skirt with an old-fashioned top and hairstyle, but imagine it with no crinoline and a T-shirt. I don’t see why there would be anything unwearable about it. Who cares about this “wearability” anyway? If you want to wear it? This shirt would be nice with just jeans…but there will be other days for that.

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For me style is sometimes less about looking polished or “stylish” and more about a very specific kind of wish fulfillment or direct expression. In the first case clothing often feels to me like armor that helps me to interface with the world in a way that preserves my individuality and independence; a contemporary uniform that makes it easier to behave like my best public self, designed with the purpose of being worn in this culture, in this era. In the second case of style as fantasy, style as an interpretation of a vision that would get some strange looks on the street, clothing is the opposite of armor, the unprotected translation of self. Such looks are designed with really no purpose save the delight of the self. They are manifestations of my own projections of myself within myself.

Looked at another way, I have a tableau in mind, just like any magazine editorial, and I am the model and creative director in one.

Looked at another way, style is personal.

IMG_7806Civil war era reproduction camp skirt (thrifted) with crinoline (eBay), lace top (thrifted, which I ought to have steamed), obi sash/belt (eBay), Bass oxford pumps (thrifted), Pearls of Joy 10-11mm pearl studs, lace parasol (a gift), vintage Timex watch.

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Wear what you want.

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