I've said it
before and I'll say it again: summer is almost upon us. The countdown has begun.
Five days, everyone. Five days until freedom is granted. State testing will be done and I'll be jetlagged on the other side of the country. Sounds like a frickin' blast, wouldn't'cha say? I don't think I've ever been readier for a season to come. Freshman year was the longest ten months of my life. I can't tell if that's a good thing or a bad thing.
Amongst the millions of things floating around in my lil' mind right now, one of them is the way my style evolves during the summer. Last year, it changed so much from the end of middle school to the start of high school that most people didn't recognize me. I mean, I kind of chopped off all my hair and whatever but IDK, man. People r weird!!!! I could easily launch into the classic summer-is-a-time-when-everything-changes shpiel, but that is so beyond High School Musical cliché that I might just vomit on my computer screen if I were to do that. I know, I know, clichés are clichés because they're true, but still. Just the
thought of Vanessa Anne Hudgens saying, "It's summer. Anything can happen," makes me want to cry.
I
digress.
July 4th, 2011 January 5th, 2012
Look at the difference in just 6 months. Same person, same cardigan, but not that similar at all.
For most people--or at least the majority of the girls walking around my school--when the temperatures rise, so do their hemlines, and that's the main tweak to their wardrobe. Usually, people like to dress more simply in the summer. They want ease; they want comfort. I totally get where they're coming from. It's not quite like that for me. I'm not a huge fan of shorts for myself just because they make me uncomfortable and stupid stuff like that (hashtag teenage girl problems), so I can't just put on a pair of denim cut-offs and a cool t-shirt and be fine with that because a) I don't really own that many wearable t-shirts and b) that's so boring.
Barbant, if you will. I'm sort of feeling like throwing in some French words every now and again, so if that happens just know that I'm not extremely pretentious, we just have a French girl staying with us in a few weeks and I must hone my language skills.
Anoué (that's Canadian French, it's not even a real word.
She doesn't even go here.), the day after school let out I suddenly realized how much I restrict myself clothing-wise during the academic year. Those of you reading this that have classes with me are probably scoffing and saying, "Ha! That--that's funny. Oh, that Odelia! She's a real jokester, she is. Restricting...ha! Whew! That was a good laugh." I can actually envision my friend
Kimberly whom I mentioned the other day doing exactly that. I am just goin' to town on this whole storytelling thing, aren't I? Feel free to tell me to shut up whenever I go all grandpa-telling-stories-about-the-good-ol'-days on you.
The aforementioned statement that I dress differently during the warmer months was confirmed the other day when I walked into my closet and pulled out the craziest skirt I own (it's a powder blue Gap Kids skirt with tulle trim underneath), a green t-shirt (
Elly once told me that she had a similar top that she wore when being a germ in a school play) and my Sergeant Pepper jacket. I didn't even have to think, I just grabbed all those pieces and threw 'em on my body. That is so uncharacteristic of me, I can't even
begin to tell you. It takes me a solid fifteen minutes to choose my clothing everyday. It was weird--as soon as I opened the door to my closet I was like, "I'm gonna wear whatever the hell I want, I don't give a damn what everyone else thinks." I attributed it to the fact that I've been re-watching every episode of
"Freaks and Geeks" aka the best show ever besides Spongebob, as well as the fact that I'm being particularly angsty recently and indulging in reading so much
Rookie Mag that it might be borderline unhealthy. However, it's undeniable that there is another reason behind this sudden shift in mindset that I experienced. It's because I worried what my schoolmates would think about what I wore, and I let it affect how I dressed. That's the worst thing I've heard all day. Me of all people should know and understand that clothing is how some people express themselves. How did I ever let
other humans get in the way of that? Ew. Ugh. The mere thought of it makes me angry. So naturally I'll continue to write about it.
At the beginning of the year, I was so wrapped up in Fashion Week and the exciting world of high school! And blogging! And fashion! And people! Hooray! Luv lyfeee <3333!!! that I wore anything I wanted. I go to an arts school for gooseness sake, I may as well look like it. I developed somewhat of a reputation in that respect. But, a little while after February Fashion Week, I took a downward spiral into the evil abyss that is at the core of everyone's high school experience. I constantly fretted about how others perceived me. It was like the first week of freshman year all over again--everything was a struggle. I became an anti-social, miserable, sedentary lump of flesh and bones, and it soon affected my clothing choices. Even a few weeks ago, I would show up to school wearing something I thought would be fine and get me through the day when in fact the clothing I had chosen to put on my body had made school that much worse. I just wasn't feeling inspired at all by my garments. Suddenly, fashion had rules, and I hated them. Picking my clothes every night became a chore, not an experiment. I hadn't cracked open my monthly issue of
Harper's Bazaar in weeks. As if by magic, the moment I was freed (nearly, I still have Regents) from the prison that supposedly provides us with education, my brain was liberated as well. Soon I'll be hanging around people I've never met before. No one will know who I am. The aspect of mystery is intriguing and exciting. Trust me, guys, I'm going all out cray. It's going to be great. Ya know why? Because I have stopped caring whether someone thinks it's "
hipster" if I wear a bindi and I'm not Indian, or if I want to wrap a big scarf around my torso and call it a shirt. Screw them. They are not me, so who are they to say what I should and should not wear? They are not anyone, if you were to plug that phrase into the previously stated question.
This blog is not typically used as a public diary, so to keep with that trend, I will translate this revelation into something that will help you out as well. I shan't be selfish with my common knowledge. What should you take away from this ridiculously and somewhat painfully long blogpost, exactly?
TRY NOT TO CARE WHAT OTHER CREATURES ARE THINKING ABOUT YOU BECAUSE IT IS NOT WORTH YOUR TIME TO BE BUGGING OUT ABOUT IT AND YOU WILL BE HAPPIER EVENTUALLY EVEN IF IT SEEMS REALLY SCARY AT FIRST BECAUSE IT IS BUT PEOPLE WILL SHOW YOU SOME R-E-S-P-E-C-T (PREACH IT, ARETHA) FOR BEING TRUE TO YO'SELF. I tried to make that as non-Disney-Channel-movie as I could, I hope I didn't send you into a moment of panic in which you felt a pang of remorse for all those hours you wasted watching Hannah Montana.
Oh shoot that was just me wasn't it. Crap.
If it wasn't evident from this extremely long
post rant, I have recently, as in within the past forty-eight hours, come upon a goldmine of inspiration. A rejuvenation of sorts. There will be a full post about that unto itself. I have already done some new artwork since school ended that I'd love to show you all if you're interested. I would hate to force my art on you. That's like throwing mashed potatoes at someone and saying, "Eat up! You'll love it!"
Hayyyy! Look how fancy that is! Classy as fuq with my poll and all. Vote! Pretend like it's the presidential election and the wellbeing of your country depends on it. In all seriousness, I am genuinely interested in what's goin' on in that little noggin of yours. It probably looks a little something like this, I would imagine.
On that note, I shall leave you. Be prepared for some more posts like this and hopefully some
Huffington Post articles in the near future. I can practically feel the inspiration coursing through my veins. Imma explode 'n stuff.
Merry weekend and congratulations to Leandra Medine on getting married. If the
Man Repeller herself can find a mate, there's still hope for the rest of us.
