Halloween officially starts on September 1st. Been that way for years. I just love all things spooky and a playful sense of creepiness a la Edward Gorey gives an ordinary outfit a sense of the fantastic. (An overused expression of mine). But this year, with Syria, the safe borders between sofa and TV has got blurry. Screen culture is no longer escapism and my Mum doesn't let me watch the news anymore. Indulging in morbid aesthetics seems gross. Creating a well referenced, well researched text about it seems even worse. Like I'm trying to turn a body count into a word count. Ick. Ick. But I dunno. Today I wanted to dress up. Fashion is a catharsis for me. It's therapy, and there's no fucking way I'm turning my Syria shit into footnote fodder for my Oxbridge education. But I still have to get it out somehow. And today I felt like clothes was a good way to do it. I was thinking about Lock, Shock and Barrel in Nightmare before Christmas and the third Harry Potter movie and Violet Baudelaire and this outfit by Tavi. And how Comme des Garcons was dismissed as 'Hiroshima Chic'. But I dunno. I was also thinking about Real Bad Stuff. The theatrics of mourning and the costumes we wear as Very Sad People. Fashion can intersect with bad things and speak a special kind of picture talk when words fails.
And I don't feel I'm worthy of a 'serious' medium. Not with Syria. People dismiss fashion as shallow and stupid, and even though I don't agree with that opinion, not at all, not even, that's how I feel right now. Shallow and stupid. I don't want to ever ever make 'Good Art', 'Good Writing' from this. Nothing good should come of this.
I am dressed entirely in Primark. Lace primark playsuit with a primark dress over the top, primark shoes (one in a size 3 and one is a size 4. Not sure how I missed that when I bought them) and glow in the dark children's skeleton pyjamas. As of now I am cutting back on fast fashion. However, I'm not binning the stuff I have, as that's wasteful too. Rather I want to wear these clothes in new imaginative ways, to make these seemingly throwaway items beautiful. Which you could link into some real deep thing about the war but I'm also wearing an Alexander McQueen scarf on head so... I wanted the scarf to look like a bow. Like a veil. But I'm not good at knots. It slowly blobbed out into a big black mass on my head like when you drop oil into the ocean. Why am I smiling in this photo? I have no idea. I automatically smile in photos I guess.
My skull scarf has totally collapsed now and there's a red ring where I've been chomp-chomp-chomping on my bottom lip.
I hope your days are happy and whole.
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