You aren't even google-able

Whenever you find yourself on the side of the majority, it is time to pause and reflect. - Ralph Waldo Emerson



Walking past her was almost as nauseating as the fumes that come wafting out as you walk by Abercrombie at the mall. Her thick air of self-righteousness made my eyes water. As I picked pieces I liked, she struck up a conversation with me and was quick to tell me what fruit my body resembles and give me unsolicited advice as to what I should and shouldn't wear. From colors, to silhouettes, and trends all followed by "listen up here, you are getting expert advice for free."

What was offensive was not this woman telling me the things I adore look "ridiculous" on me, it was the audacity of her to assume I knew, much less cared, who she was.  As though I would heed this random woman's advice based on the sole fact that she told me she was an expert and charges a lot for these comments she has so graciously blessed me with. 


The realization that today's society is ruled by an elite group of people is far from lost on me, however...



This laughable episode got me to thinking. How many people have been fooled into believing someone/something is relevant because a self-propelled "elite" conned them into believing in something with no foundation - the Bernie Madoffs of society.



Some were born into power, others clawed their way there. The most common however, are those who wished themselves into a place of prestige through the power of imagination. They are the ones who exude an air of self-righteousness so thick you could choke on it. They live in a falsified world, where their opinions matter, and their say so is the end all be all. Though there is no truth to their illusion of power and importance, the confidence they ooze acts as an opium to those around them and a bonafide resume bullet-pointing their relevance. Their self-assurance draws people in and puts them into a "follow thy leader" daze feeding the flame of the so-called elite.


Believing in something because someone used-car-salesmanned you into, is like buying pair of lime green snake-print pleather pants because some random style editor in Vogue claimed they are so totally in. I mean, if you are into lime green plastic do it up big. If you are into wearing combat boots and an oversized men's shirt, do it. If you are into granny-chic, wear it with pride. If you are into leotards and thigh-high boots, rock it, but don't be offended by the cars pulling over asking how much. In any case, fashion is one of our only opportunities in life to buck tradition. But if you are going to put yourself into something "ridiculous" do it because it is what you like not because someone/something you deem as an elite told you to.


Fashion magazines are among an elite group. The act as a sort of bible to those who pray to the fashion gods. I may have been fooled by their cunning way to talk you into all sorts of foolishness but I have recently come to realize they are meant to inspire you, not to beg you to copy them. Editorials aren't giving you a play by play of what you should wear next week, they are an artform and a catalyst for creating art with your own wardrobe in a more realistic form. 

Vogue Italia

Vogue Italia February 2008

But people constantly seem to be in search of someone or something to follow, someone to give them rules, a guideline, a to-do list - because they believe the "elite" are "elite" for a reason, and maybe if they follow without avail, one day they too can be elite.

Maybe I'm having a serious fit of bravado today, or maybe it is my army green military jacket I am wearing that is giving me the itch to go rogue. But excuse me whilst I stick it to "the man." 

Wearing a tiara does not make you a princess, wearing a pink tutu and Manolo Blahnik strappy sandals does not make you Carrie Bradshaw, and chopping your hair into a bob and acting like a bitch does not make you Anna Wintour.
And dearest unsolicited fashion expert, "listen up, you are getting an expert opinion for free" saying you are an expert, does not make you an expert.

Especially if you aeren't even google-able.

Want to kiss my lucky egg, mon?

Memory is a way of holding onto the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose. - Wonder Years

A woman shuffled, with her head down, by a tray of folded Kurtas. After taking a beat she stepped back and lightly ran her hand along the neckline of one of the kurtas releasing a slight, tight smile. She must have felt me staring at her, because she looked back at me and said "these remind me of my mother. I bought her one, but she passed before she was able to wear it." She quickly filed through the fanned out tops and took one to the register. As she dug out her well-swiped credit card, she kept her eyes down and said, I probably won't wear this, but now I can see my mom everyday hanging in my closet when I get ready.  


Memories are among the most bizarre human capabilities. In an unsystematic evolution they creep up, strangle you, and force you to relive the past. Sometimes you never want to leave that memory, and sometimes you feel like you are holding your breath waiting to snap back into reality. 


The smell of carbon copies instantly takes me back to my dad's office at Mercer University. Then swiftly leads me into the hallway with my brother. I watch as we push each other down the hall in cardboard boxes that we decorated pretending they were bobsleds. When we made it to the end of the hall "alive," we would turn to each other and ask, "Do you want to kiss my lucky egg, mon?" Cool Runnings was among the favorites in the Dixon household. 

Carbon copies aside, fashion secretes so many memories. Every memory I have seems to start and end in fashion. Fashion is the key that connects so many people to days, people, and places that seem so far away. 

Wedding dresses hang in closets, or lay a chest harboring the feelings and sentiments of commitment and love. Jewelry chests cradle baubles, charms, and pearls that rested on your skin as you graduated from college, got your first job, or met your future husband. Baby blankets that swaddled your newborn on his/her first day home from the hospital, rest in plastic tubs at the top of a closet.

These memories sit waiting for you to revisit them. Hoping to give you the gift of feeling. Feeling alive, feeling love, feeling hope, and even feeling sad. These memories can be whatever you need that day. Maybe you need to feel hopeful, or maybe you need to feel sad for a moment to appreciate the way things were. 

That's the beauty of fashion. As fashion cycles, so do memories. In any given season, all the sudden, runways are laden with gauze tops, bell-bottoms, crop tops, or jumpsuits that instantly transport you to way back when. These images of now current fashions give you a proverbial hug in a world that feels so unsettled and chaotic. Reminding you that the carefree feelings you had when you were young are still possible, giving you a sense of hope in a seemingly hopeless time. 





Fashion is personal. It is a memory, a sentiment, a feeling. Set it in motion.


Feel the rhythm, feel the ride, get on up, it's bobsled time.



XO, CC

In honor of memories, I wore a bib I made today.