My Mom Loves Technology

My mom loves to use her phone (not an iPhone) and her iPad to take pictures, no matter where we are, no matter the occasion. It's freaking hilarious. My sister hates it but it's just too funny for me to be annoyed by it. But really, thank god she documents these things, because how else would we have a bunch of ridiculous pictures taken in airports and in front of famous churches? Think of this as installment number one of my France trip diary, while we wait for me to get my act together and get my cameras developed. (Most of these are just of me because my family is picky and probably won't want me to post any pictures of them here, even though some of them ARE SO FUNNY. (My mom likes to take selfies (or as she calls them, 'face-ies') on long train rides and sometimes I join her.))

[All photos by my mom. Good job.]

My new favorite t-shirt: "Feminism is the radical notion that women are people."

Getting an unidentified meal at midnight in Reykjavik, Iceland (unidentified merely because what meal does one eat at midnight, especially when it feels like 4 pm because it's so light out).

Exhausted and frustrated at the train station in St. Cloud because our train decided to not go to our stop and we didn't have enough sense to realize the trains that were going to our stop were just on a different track so we sat there for an hour, just waiting. 

Me, my sister, and her friend Charlie posing up a frickin' storm in front of the famous church in Chartres. 

Shirt: made by me

Shorts: thrifted in LA

Scarf: ~childhood~

Shoes: Keds (via Savers)

Me on my birthday, about to stab anyone that tries to take one of my snails. 

Shirt: my mom's in the 70s

Overalls: thrifted in LA

Trying to blow out a candle that was simply resistant to my lung capacity. 

Already sour 16.

Also the drink is not blue, the cup is, that's just water.

Sipping some delicious café crème near Notre Dame (yeah okay try and charge 5,80 euros for a cup of coffee somewhere else see what happens). 

Shirt: gift from my aunt

Shorts: thrifted in LA

Watch: birthday present from my grandparents

Sunglasses: France

J-chillin' on the side of the Seine, having a real-life blast, livin' on the edge. 

Shoes: Trotters (via Savers)

I have a habit of wearing the same outfit a million times, especially when I travel. Overalls just seemed like the right choice every time. Also, now you can see how dorky I really am because I wear my running shoes in public. Hey, if I'm going to be a kickboxing ballerina, I need to be in tip-top shape. 

(At the airport on our way back home, hence the obviously genuine sadness.)

Props to my mom for rocking the iPad and cellphone. That takes courage.

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Soul Food

A spiritual experience. It wasn't quite what I was actively searching for, but it was a hidden desire, buried deep underneath layers of post-middle school dust and slowly being shaken awake by my recently kindled fascination with yoga. But I think I found it. Or I found one. 

Religion is and always has been debatable, but spirituality? No, that's personal, you can't deny someone a supernal, holy moment. I think, perhaps, that's one of the things I love about Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros. The band--quite literally a band of people--offers the world a chunk of rawness dislodged from the core of each of them, and ultimately from the core of humanity. And what is more raw than one's spirituality? One could argue love, or sex, but in the end, spirituality encompasses both of those in a succinct, broader sense. Edward Sharpe was borne of deep loss, a natural root of pain, and thus began a route to combatting that inherent and inevitable pain of existence. Oftentimes when people are grieving, or in a bad mental place, they claim--although "claim" alludes to disbelief; belief in the claim is subjective--to see supernatural apparitions, voices of (a) God/god, angels, seraphs, holy choirs, etcetera. That's where Edward Sharpe's music comes from. That place of distress, and then the spiritual release, the saving grace. 

I wasn't in desperate need of a cosmic intervention per se when I discovered the band's first CD, Up From Below. I was only thirteen, but the music spoke to me in a way that everyone else was afraid to. They sang of intense love, of sexual desire, of mind-altering substances, of things that thirteen-year-olds are taught, generally, to be wrong. But I was never deterred by the messages I was sent throughout my childhood. When I read Romeo and Juliet, I found myself even more attracted to the idea of I'll-die-for-you love; everyone else in my seventh grade class wrote their papers arguing free will, whereas I was the sole student that fervently argued the power of fate. Our "adolescent issues" class was aimed at teaching us the perils of teenage sexual encounters ("If you have sex you will get pregnant and die" -- Mean Girls) and the irreversible dangers of alcohol and illicit drugs (say no to everyone! Everyone is trying to get you addicted to everything! Say NO!), and I will admit that for a while, I religiously, for lack of a better word, believed in those rules. And then I heard the music. 

Their voices crack(ed), they clap(ped) and stomp(ed), they were (are) loud and they didn't (don't) care, they love(d) the universe with no reserve. Me: a frightened quiet middle school graduate with too much to do. I wanted whatever it was that they had. I played the CD on repeat, all sixteen songs, and I prayed for a gust of fairy-dust-wind to whisk me away and take me to the magical land in which I could find all these wonderful and foreign things of which they spoke. 

CD number two came out a year later, entitled Here, a word that I just recently discovered the importance of. The songs were a little sadder, a little happier, a little more aware of what they wanted. I was a little sadder, a little happier, a little more/less aware of what I wanted.

Edward Sharpe songs are the kind of songs you must treat like classical music: you must either play them very softly or very loudly, never in between, or else the effect is lost. Perfect for falling asleep to, perfect for blasting from speakers while lying on the floor waiting to feel okay again, perfect for a jubilant dance party, perfect for sing-along car rides, perfect for putting on mixtapes, perfect for getting you through long subway rides...Just all around perfect, but perfect in their imperfection. Like people. Humans. That's it, maybe; their music is irrevocably human. And that's really the only thing we can truly know about, as people: what it's like to be who we are. We can study a million other things, astrology, zoology, botany, but in the end we're not stars or tigers or flowers, we're human beings. And that's where Edward Sharpe writes and composes from, that impossible-to-ignore but often impossible-to-tap-into place of pure existence. Not human survival, no Darwinian theories or Freudian philosophies or academia at all, because none of that is truly relatable.

But these songs--they hit on something, a rare and treasured thing that is nearly inexplicable, but may best be described as harmony, as finding the point of peace among discordance. If you look at the demographics of people that listen to their music, it will shock you. This much I can tell you from going to see them play at Governor's Ball in June. There were Long Island teenagers, doctors, middle-aged office workers, art students--and this was only among the people I could see within a five-foot-radius of myself. Everyone was swaying and singing and chanting and maybe even crying together, complete strangers united by a common sound and feeling. I could attribute that to the universality of their music, but another theory comes to mind. The band's all-around vibe, emanating from their songs, their appearance, and their performance, exudes a feeling of "I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT ME," something that everyone needs more of. Especially in modern society, a time and place in which almost all we do is care what other people think about us, this is refreshing. I'm a guy and I have long hair and sometimes I don't wear shoes and cry? YEAH WHO CARES. I'm a girl and I have short hair and I don't shave my legs and I'm fragile? GO AWAY IF YOU THINK I CARE. I'm singing about things that aren't dancing in clubs and getting drunk out of my mind, and instead I'm talking about universal love and spirituality and peace? THERE'S NO WAY YOU'RE GOING TO MAKE ME THINK I'M WEIRD. 

If Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeroes teaches us anything, it's that we shouldn't be afraid. (This is really drilled into us in their eponymous third album that came out last month.) Don't fear, the world loves you, we love you, the flowers and the sand and the asteroids love you, and as long as you love yourself, "everything will be alright forever and forever and forever" (The Dharma Bums by Jack Kerouac). Wear what you want, say what you want, do what you want, because the only thing that's holding you back from living without inhibition is what you think everyone else will think of you. Thus the only thing holding you back is you, because in the end, you are you and that's really all that's certain. They don't teach us to break the laws and go smash things and commit arson and murder, but more that we're not as trapped as we think we are. The shackles are invisible, all it takes is a little bit of power to break yourself free. 

*Of course this all relates to fashion. Everything relates to fashion because fashion iz lyfe amirite holla at me if I'm rite 

[First five photos taken by me; last two photos taken from Google.]

Lead singer Alexander Ebert at Governor's Ball

Lead singer Alexander Ebert stomping it out at Governor's Ball

Lead singer Alexander Ebert stomping it out on the other side at Governor's Ball

Lead singer Alexander Ebert concentrating on the ~soul~ at Governor's Ball

Band member and vocalist Jade Castrinos acting cute while singing at Governor's Ball

Band member and vocalist Jade Castrinos swaying with a tambourine

The whole crew on the grass

Check out all of their albums on iTunes, or on YouTube (The YooHoo, as sometimes I like to refer to it, as in, "How can I download these darn em-pee twos from The YooHoo?!"), or Spotify, or wherever.

PS DON'T FORGET TO ENTER THE SOLE PROVISIONS GIVEAWAY...PLEASE....

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On Est Toujours Fatigué

C'est vrai. Je crois que je vais tomber sur la terre dans quelques jours. Dès que j'ai écrit sur la blog la dernière fois, nous avons marché, peut-être, 70 kilometres. Et nous avons voyagé par train ou par bus de Paris, à Avignon, à Les-Baux-de-Provence, à Saint-Rémy-de Provence (le lieu où Vincent van Gogh a peint la plus part ses tableaux plus célèbres), et maintenant, nous nous sommes arrêtées dans une gare à Marseille, attendant notre train à Aix-en-Provence. Nous resterons là pour un jour, et puis nous irons à Cannes, et puis Nice, et nous dînerons à Ventimiglia, en Italie, jeudi soir, et enfin, nous retournerons à Paris. Lundi, on part pour les Etats-Unis, malheureusement. 

It's true. I think I'll fall flat on the ground in a few days time. Since I last wrote on this blog, we've walked approximately 70 kilometers. And we've traveled by train or by bus from Paris, to Avignon, to Les-Baux-de-Provence, to Saint-Rémy-de-Provence (the place where Vincent van Gogh painted most of his most famous works), and right now, we're chillin' at a train station in Marseille, waiting for our train to take us to Aix-en-Provence. We'll be staying there for one day, and then we're going to Cannes, then Nice, and then we'll have dinner in Ventimiglia in Italy Thursday night, and finally, we'll return to Paris. We leave for the US on Monday, sadly.

Je suis passée mon anniversaire à Paris. J'ai fait une promenade à vélo le matin, et l'après-midi nous sommes partis pour le cité (mais d'abord l'ami de ma soeur m'a achetée des pantalons à la style d'une pirate à la marché). Nous avons marché des Invalides au Quartier Latin, et selon ma requête, nous sommes allés au Shakespeare & Co., une librairie anglaise située au début du quartier, et juste en face de la Seine. Elle a une affiliation avec City Lights Books, la librairie en Californie qui a imprimé les livres et poèmes des écrivains du Beat Generation (mes écrivains favoris, comme Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, et cetera.). Après que j'ai trouvé les livres que j'ai voulu acheter--un livre qui s'agit de la vie et l'oeuvre d'Egon Schiele, et un petit livre des écritures et poèmes écrit par Kerouac--j'ai demandé à une employée de me dire qu'est-ce que c'est l'affiliation entre Shakespeare & Co. et City Lights, et elle m'a dit que Lawrence Ferlinghetti, la propriétaire du City Lights, aimait Shakespeare & Co. et la fréquentait souvent. Elle m'a dit de demander à un autre employé pour plus d'information. Je l'ai cherché, et il m'a dit d'un hôtel qui est pas loin de la librairie où les écrivains Beat sont restés dans les années 50s et 60s. (J'ai visité cet hôtel lendemain, et je suis retournée à Shakespeare et j'ai dit à cet employé qu'est-ce que j'ai vu, et il m'a dit qu'il y a plusieurs choses que je n'ai pas vu, comme la Dream Machine, et autres choses.) Puis, nous avons marché au Marais, où on a trouvé des "thrift shops" et j'ai acheté une longue robe bordeaux en velours pour seulement dix euros. C'est très jolie. Après, nous sommes allés au Montmartre pour dîner près de Sacre Coeur et manger des crêpes. J'ai mangé des escargots et une crêpe avec Nutella et chantilly. Après ce jour fatiguant, nous sommes retournés chez nous, et ma mère m'a donnée des autres cadeaux, une édition de Le Petit Prince (mais en anglais) inclus. Je suis en train de le lire.

I spent my birthday in Paris. I took a bike ride in the morning, and in the afternoon we left for the city (but first my sister's friend bought me a pair of pirate pants at the market). We walked from Invalides to the Latin Quarter, and at my request, we went to Shakespeare & Co., an English bookstore situated at the start of the neighborhood, and right across the street from the Seine. It has an affiliation with City Lights Books, the bookstore in California that published the books and poems of the writers of the Beat Generation (my favorite authors, like Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, etcetera). After I found the books I wanted to buy--a book about the life and works of Egon Schiele, and a little book of writings and poems by Kerouac--I asked an employee to tell me about the affiliation between Shakespeare & Co. and City Lights, and she told me that Lawrence Ferlinghetti, the owner of City Lights, loved Shakespeare & Co. and still continues to frequent it often. She told me to ask a different employee for more information on the subject. I found him and he told me about a hotel that's not far from the bookstore where the Beat writers had stayed in the 50s and 60s. (I visited the hotel the day after next, and then I went back to Shakespeare and told the guy what I'd seen, and he told me that there were a lot of things I hadn't been shown, like the Dream Machine and some other things.) Then we walked to the Marais, where we found some thrift shops and I bought a long bordeaux velvet gown for only ten euros. It's bangin'. After that, we went to Montmartre for dinner near Sacre Coeur and ate crêpes. I ate snails and a Nutella and whipped cream crêpe. After our ridiculously tiring day, we went home, and my mom gave me more gifts, including an English version of Le Petit Prince (The Little Prince). I'm in the middle of reading it right now.

On a marché beaucoup (trop, peut-être!), déjeuné avec nos amis de famille, et visité des cathédrales, des palais, et des châteaux. New York me manque un peu, mais je serai très triste de sortir ce pays dans moins qu'une semaine. 

We've walked a lot (too much, maybe), had lunch with some family friends, and visited cathedrals, palaces, and castles. I miss New York a little bit, but I'll be super sad when I have to leave this wonderful place in less than a week.

DON'T FORGET TO ENTER THE SOLE PROVISIONS GIVEAWAY! PLEASE! JE VOUS EN PRIE! 

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Bienvenue à Paris

Je suis arrivée à Paris il y a vers trois jours, mais beaucoup de choses se sont passées déjà. Nous avons voyagé en avion à Reykjavìk, la capitale d'Iseland, où nous nous sommes arrêtées pour une heure et mangé le dîner. Nous avons acheté du chocolat islandais. Cette une langue très bizarre; elle résonne comme l'espagnol mais avec beaucoup de K's. À Reykjavìk, le soleil ne s'est pas couché malgré qu'il était minuit! Je ne sais pas comment personne peut dormir en Iseland. Puis, on a voyagé en avion encore et nous sommes arrivées à Paris a 6h15 ici, mais c'était 1h15 aux États-Unis. C'était parfait parce que nous n'avions pas fatiguées. Mais après, nous avons dû prendre le train à notre maison, et ce voyage a pris trois heures extras. Je me suis couchée immédiatement et l'ami de ma soeur qui restera avec nous cette semaine était arrivé chez nous quand je me suis réveillée. Nous avons promené autour de la ville, dîné au restaurant, et enfin nous pourrions dormir. 

I arrived in Paris about three days ago, but so much has already happened. We flew into Reykjavìk, the capital of Iceland, where we had a layover for an hour and had dinner. We also bought Icelandic chocolate. It's a really bizarre language; it sounds like Spanish, but with a lot more K's. In Reykjavìk, the sun still hadn't set even though it was midnight! I don't know how anyone can ever sleep in Iceland. Then, we got on another plane and arrived in Paris at 6:15 am Parisian time, but 1:15 am New York time. It was perfect because we weren't tired, which we would've had we taken a red-eye flight. But then, we had to take the train to the house we're staying at, and this leg of the trip took three extra hours. I went to sleep as soon as we got there, and my sister's friend who's staying with us this week had arrived at our house by the time I woke up. We walked around the town, got dinner, and finally we could sleep.

Hier, nous sommes allés au marché en plein air et le supermarché et nous avons achetés des fruits et légumes frais, et aussi du fromage, des céréales, de la yaourt, et cetera. Nous avons assis au café, où j'ai bu un café au lait et partagé un pain chocolat amandes avec ma soeur. Bien sûr, tous était délicieux. Je ne bois pas du café normalement, mais j'ai décidé hier matin que je le boirai, parce que c'est trop délicieux ici de laisser tomber. Plus tard, nous sommes allés à Paris par le RER, et j'ai visité l'American University of Paris. C'est magnifique. Puis, nous avons marché au Quartier Latin pour le dîner, et vers minuit nous sommes retournés chez nous. Vous penseriez que nous voudrions dormir, mais nous ne nous sommes pas couchés avant 2h00. Il y avait un grand orage qui nous a gardé éveillés. De plus, il y a plein de moustiques. Tout le monde a douzaines de morsures. Nous n'avons pas pu dormir, alors nous ne nous sommes pas réveillés jusqu'à 1h00 de l'après-midi. Nous ferons du vélo et d'aviron pour profiter de nos environs. 

Yesterday, we went to the open air market and the supermarket and we bought fresh fruits and veggies, and also cheese, cereal, yogurt, etcetera. We sat down at a café, where I got a café au lait and shared a chocolate almond pastry with my sister. Naturally everything was effing delicious. I don't usually drink coffee, but I decided yesterday morning that I'll drink it while I'm here, because it's way too delicious here to pass up. Later, we took the RER into Paris, and I visited the American University of Paris. It's awesome. Then, we walked to the Latin Quarter for dinner, and around midnight we returned home. You'd think that we'd want to go right to sleep, but we didn't until 2 am. Because we're stupid. There was then a huge storm that kept us all up. On top of that, there are a ridiculous amount of mosquitos here. All of us have dozens of bites in the weirdest places. It's insufferable. None of us could sleep, so we ended up not waking up until 1 pm. To make up for our off schedule, we're going to go bike riding and rowing.

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I Begin To Shed

I've been considering getting a pixie cut since January of 2012. My hair is now past my chin and almost shoulder length, and I am BORED. I can put it in a ponytail, in pigtails, in dumplings, or just let it be, but no matter what I do I'm just straight up tired of having hair. It'll look nice the day I take a shower, but then I go to sleep and when I wake up it is a hot mess. Curls --> squished twirly things. It's just a hassle. I've resorted to putting up my hair almost every day, which is kind of lame. I had to wear a ponytail two days in a row last week, and that's when it dawned on me: why don't I just cut it all off like I've always wanted to? It's summer, it's hot, no one can see me...it's the perfect time. So, I'm doing it. I'm not telling you when, but I am doing it. 

So, here are the pictures I used to convince my mom and sister that I'm not making a terrible mistake that's going to ruin my life. 

[Photos via the endless Interwebz.]

Michelle Williams

(We have similar face shapes)

Laurel Pantin

(We have semi-similar face shapes, but I don't want to go that short quite yet)

A runway show that I can't remember right now

(We have similar face shapes plus it's heavier on top which is what I want)

Audrey Hepburn

(She's Audrey Hepburn)

Carey Mulligan

(We have semi-similar face shapes and her hair is more tousled than Michelle Williams's)

Natalie Portman

(We have similar face shapes, and her hair is so effing adorable)

Anne Hathaway

(When she smiles we have have similar face shapes)

Audrey Tautou

(She has curly-ish hair and still rocks a pixie)

GAHHHHHH I AM SO EXCITED
NO HAIR FOR ME
LA LA LA
"ODELIA BECOMES A PIXIE PRINCESS"

P.S. While going on a power walk with my mom yesterday we stopped into a little thrift shop located in our local church and discovered that it's amazing and ridiculously cheap. I got a plaid tunic-y pantsuit, a knee-length denim pencil skirt, a purple sundress with sunflowers embroidered on it, and a big floral denim button-up shirt, all for approximately $20. Magic. But sadly, it's closed until September. We happened to stumble upon it on its last day open. Coincidence? Maybe. Fate??? I think yes.

Tomorrow is Summer Solstice. Get your chinchillas and boomboxes ready.

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To Be or Not To Be

 It all started with institutionalized education. Well, really, it began with an entrepreneurial Harvard student trying to connect the world. Mark Zuckerberg and his social media successors aside, my initiation into a world of Facebook-obsessed adolescents was highly unpleasant. Despite the fact that making friends with real live people was taxing enough for my timid freshman self, the true struggle existed on the Internet. I often think about how glad I am that I escaped.

I'm not writing this to preach an anti-social media doctrine. I'm writing this because social media is a defining characteristic of modern life, and that scares me more than I dare to say. I used to spend hours cultivating meaningless and superficial friendships with people on Facebook who wouldn't wave to me in the hallways. Why should they wave? I would ask myself. We don't really know each other anyway. I said this as a way to convince myself of something that I still can't identify. At the time I barely believed it, but in retrospect it was an accurate statement. I recently learned that what I thought was an acquaintance's last name was not her surname at all. Little (although that seems kind of large to me) nuances like that made me realize just how phony it all is. And since most people's lives exist primarily on their computers and phones, I really do mean all of it.

A month or so ago, I attended a fashion conference in New York City. One of the first panels was about the immense power of social media: Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, Pinterest, Tumblr, and so on. The panelists raved for half an hour about how Tweeting is therapeutic and how they can't live without their iPhones. They ceaselessly touted the advantageous effects of being immersed in online culture. They assured us that a brand's Twitter interactions are nearly as important as their products themselves. As I typed out notes on what these people told me, I couldn't help but feel like I was writing down lies. I refused to believe that my future relies on how well I can condense my thoughts into one hundred forty characters. When it was time for questions, I raised my hand and asked, “If I am a fashion blogger and I don't want to get involved in social media, but I attend fashion shows and events, can I still be successful in the industry?” Everyone in the room—and those watching the event being live-streamed on their computers—stared at me. There was a slight pause as hundreds of eyes looked at me in disbelief. Joe Zee, the creative director of Elle magazine, drew the microphone up to his lips and said something along the lines of, “I guess my question to you is, why don't you want to get involved? This is your ticket.” I feebly attempted to explain my standpoint on the issue, but with editors and bloggers and the like surrounding me at all angles, I couldn't bring myself to tell them how fake it all seems without seriously offending every single person there. I believe that that was the moment at which the conflict become clear to me: to participate, or to not?

I deleted my Facebook account in the middle of this past summer. I had been on vacation with my family in California, and we had left the day after my state-regulated exams were over. I was hanging out in Hollywood, and all I could think about was what was going on back home, and what was so-and-so doing, and gosh, they look like they're having fun, I haven't spoken to my friends in days. It was torturous. I mentioned one day to my mother and sister that I was considering deactivating my account, and both of their immediate reactions were “no.” They asked me why in the world would I do that? This was my mother telling me this. That kind of threw me off. Aren't moms supposed to want their children off of Facebook? I guess that only applies to the mothers that don't have accounts themselves. I tried to tell them that it was depressing me, that I got nothing positive out of obsessively watching over other peoples' lives, that I had already wasted so much precious time doing absolutely nothing, the latter of which is easily one of my biggest fears. I had driven myself mad and become instantly miserable because such-and-such person hadn't responded to my wall post, or hadn't liked my comment. Just take a moment to think about how ridiculous this all sounds. Mere decades ago, if someone didn't pick up the phone, it was most likely because they weren't home, not because they hated you and were trying to ignore you. Now, if somebody doesn't “like” someone's “wall post,” they go berserk. Whatever all of this was, I wanted out, and I needed to extricate myself immediately. As soon as I got back from my trip, I sent a private message out to the friends I wanted to stay in touch with (the list consisted of ten or twelve people at the most) telling them that I was deleting my Facebook and if they needed or wanted to reach me, here was my email address. I clicked the “deactivate” button, and it was all over. I was free.

I spent the rest of the summer nearly completely out of touch with the outside world, save for those people that I had called or sent text messages to and the people that were in a room with me. Since blogging is often (at least for me) a one-sided conversation, I don't count it as a social media platform; therefore, I was basically isolated from everything social for two months. If deleting my account taught me anything, it was how to weed out my real friends from the fake ones. People that I thought were close companions didn't remember my birthday because Facebook didn't remind them when it was. Nobody but my aunt called me to wish me a happy birthday that day. To be fair, most of my friends were at camp and weren't allowed to have phones with them, but all of those insincere wall posts I had gotten in past years from people I sort of knew were no longer a part of the picture. At the time, I was convinced that I had simply dropped off the face of the earth. To everybody else, I was gone, and they hadn't ever cared enough to notice now. I was even slightly content with going on living like that, maybe forever, only spending time with people I wanted to, or sometimes seeing nobody at all. It was a tranquil lifestyle, except for those frequent moments when I would wonder what my friends were doing and if they remembered that I existed. Sometimes I cared, but most often I didn't. I was done trying so hard to make everyone notice me. Fading into the background was so much easier.

When I returned to school in the fall, I didn't dread the actual start of school and what the academic year would bring: I dreaded seeing everyone that I knew once again. I knew that I would have to combat against everyone's, “Why did you delete your Facebook?” questions, even though I knew I could never tell them the truth. There was no way I was going to inform them that it was their fault, in a way. That would seem far too condescending. I still feel uncomfortable telling people that I don't have a Facebook account despite the fact that I'm extremely proud of it. I broke out of the mold, and I am happier because of it. The sick, twisted part of our society is that I feel bad when telling people that, essentially, I am different from them. This pressure to be like everybody else, in spite of how much everyone propagates the concept of individuality, is so overwhelming that separating oneself from others in any way is absurdly isolating.

Recall the anecdote I told at the beginning of this article about the fashion conference. When a famous magazine editor challenged my views on social media in front of hundreds of people, there was no way I was going to argue with him about it. It wasn't because he was the ever-fabulous Joe Zee. It was because I was literally the only person in the entire room that had that perspective on the topic, and pursuing a conversation about something that is much more personal than it seems on the surface in front of a crowd of strangers did not seem appealing. It still doesn't. What scared me was that they didn't get it, not one bit. No one there could wrap their minds around the prospect of doing away with hashtags and Twitter handles, with reblogging and Pinning, with “likes” and wall posts.

Call me old-fashioned, because maybe I am. But it frightens and disappoints me that my laptop accepts Facebook, Twitter, and Tumblr as words, while it does not recognize an Old English word (certes). My intention with this article was not, as I mentioned previously, to berate you all for having Facebook or Twitter accounts. It was to make people aware of the toll this new culture has on us as humans. Perhaps it is because I am a strong believer in the power of language, physical interaction, and out-dated methods of communication, but I worry every day that we are ruining ourselves. The world has become so open and lawless that there's nowhere to hide anymore. Life is becoming exceedingly more like Project Runway: one day you're in, and the next day, you're out. I've made the conscious decision to live on the “outside,” but what does that mean for my career as a member of the fashion industry, or any industry, for that matter? My hunch is that it does not portend good things.

The real struggle is whether we participate or not. If we choose to get involved, we run the risk of becoming dependent on our online interactions, a thought that I can barely comprehend. If we choose to stay away from social media, we run the equally terrifying risk of becoming outcasts. Both of these possibilities' likelihood and intensity increases daily, so the time to decide is now. Are you in, or are you out? 

See this article on the Huffington Post, if you feel like hopping over there.

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On the Road (Clover Canyon Spring 2013)

I know it doesn't make much sense right now, what with Hurricane Sandy blocking off all mass transit in New York City so that I can't leave my borough, coupled with the fact that the next summer break is eons away, but think about spending hot, adventure-filled days in Southern California. Why, you ask? Because that's what the designers of Clover Canyon wanted us to do when they put out their Spring/Summer 2013 collection that I saw at New York Fashion Week back in September. The collection was called "On the Road," most likely intentionally sharing a name with Jack Kerouac's novel by the same title. If you haven't read the book, it chronicles the author's travels back and forth across the United States over the course of a few years--working on a railroad in California for a few months, hitchhiking to Denver, stopping in New York City for a few weeks, going back out West, over and over and over again. To be honest, it began to feel almost ridiculous how much he backtracked and revisited places, only because I am an extremely systematic person and like to go from point A to point B in a logical manner. But that wasn't the point of me mentioning On the Road. The entire book is about getting up and just leaving in search of a good time. That was basically Jack Kerouac's life (I've been reading a collection of personal letters between him and Allen Ginsberg, a correspondence spanning approximately fifteen years, so I'm getting all the intimate facts about his bumming around in Mexico and sleeping on other people's couches while writing). 

This past summer, the Rookie Mag team did a cross-country road trip, starting in New York and working their way west to California. It's just another example of a group of friends spending time together in a van, eating junk food and driving endlessly for miles and stopping at deserted burger joints off the side of some midwestern interstate that only their car and a few assorted pick-up trucks are traveling on. It's not just about going somewhere just to be on the move and not necessarily having a set destination. It's about freedom. The bright colors and scintillating prints in the Clover Canyon collection emulated the youthfulness and fun of a road trip. The brand's clothing is manually patterned, cut, and sewn on the premises. They refer to it as "old world craftsmanship," an aspect of their company that gives the collection's allusions to "candy-colored muscle cars," "wood-paneled motel rooms," "surf shacks," "disco balls and rodeos," and "cannabis leaves" a whole new meaning. [All of these quotations are taken from Clover Canyon's show notes.] Road trips, above all, are about fun. Even though I'm still just a kid, I know how tough it is as an adult to enjoy yourself the way teenagers do. They have responsibilities and obligations that jobless students do not. In Clover Canyon's collection, the juxtaposition between "boyish soft suiting" and fluid shapes and fabrics realizes the idea of adults trying to let loose and truly act like kids again. 

The show was presented in the form of a box presentation, meaning the models were standing around the room and posing for the photographers. Luckily, I was a photographer, and some of the girls got really into it. I mean, it is their job, but I felt really grateful that they were posing for lil' ol' me, so I smiled at all of them after I lowered my camera, and some returned the grin, but others were slightly taken aback by my act of courtesy. 

You'll see how cool some of these girls were in their super cool clothes. 

[Photos by me.]

Imagine going to work in that suit. 

Way out, dude! 

That was my impression of a surfer. 

That print is pretty intense. 

Am I seeing cars? Am I seeing Aztec buildings? What am I seeing??

The Road. 

This reminds me of a ceramic sculpture I recently made inspired by adobe architecture.

Fun fact of the day.  

Try and tell me it doesn't look like the models are going to be sucked into a black abyss. 

She was smizing up a storm. If you can smize with your body...?

Can you spot the illegal drugs in this photo? 

When you don't have a cool '50s Cadillac to drive around town...wear one on your torso! 

The hair and the print on the jacket are screaming Grease mixed with the "SB-129" episode of Spongebob.

The cutest person ever. 

Don't tell anyone, but she was my favorite. 

Look at them smize. They make it an art form. 

This model even made her feet look all fancy for me. Wasn't that nice? 

That jacket is made of sequins. 

Yeah. 

That just about wraps up New York Fashion Week! Well, actually, it wraps up New York Fashion Week. Straight up. And it only took me, like, two months!

If you guys were seriously affected by that bitch Sandy this weekend...you probably wouldn't be reading this blogpost right now, because you probably wouldn't have power. Luckily I wasn't, as in my apartment didn't lose power and my neighborhood suffered minimal damage, but I know so many people who weren't as fortunate. The subway will be shut down for the next four to five days, which means: a) no school, and b) no going anywhere at all. So it's good but also fairly sucky. Hang in there, guys!

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