Deep peace of the quiet earth to you. 

Fashion be damned.

July 14, 2016


You guys remember Sex in the City? I know. How can you not? Even if you never saw an episode (or watched it sporadically while staying in hotel rooms with cable, à la yours truly), you can probably call up the show in your mind (or, well, via the interweb). I'm thinking of Carrie Bradshaw and fashion this morning. Right? I mean, yes, granted, Sarah Jessica Parker can wear anything, hands-down. But my point? This character wore what she loved, and fashion bowed to her.


Why? Because Carrie was written perfectly? Of course not. But she didn't give a flying tutu what anyone else thought; she wore what she loved. What she LOVED. What she loved made her effortlessly happy (in this respect, anyway--we're not going into deep critical-theory-waters here; this is a metaphor, after all), effortlessly effervescent. And that, that (!!) is what makes one an icon, an inspiration, and (dare I say) an (accidental) teacher and empowerer. 


So. That's what I'm getting at. We have thoughts, ideas, books, passions, hobbies, hats, frilly dresses, shiny wing-tip shoes, capes, feather boas, what-have-you, that make us effervescently happy. I don't think we can underestimate these little things. Are they material? Well, yes. To an extent. (I'm not holding Sex and the City up as a beacon of minimalism or as a path by which one should base one's life). But it doesn't have to be. Flowers in your hair might make you so blissed out that you can't think straight. Who knows? But find those things and wear them, dammit. Outwardly, inwardly, I don't care. But don't hide.


Just stop hiding. 






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