About a year ago, I made a tiny little baby-sized reference to Annie Hall that at the time I didn't fully understand because I hadn't seen the movie until last night. I decided to watch it once and for all (because Amélie isn't on Instant Play, nor is any other movie on my to-watch list) on some shady free movie site (okay, it wasn't that shady, it just was taking forever to buffer at the beginning so I'm a little sour about that). I hadn't seen any Woody Allen films aside from Midnight in Paris, so I figured it was about time I saw one of his most classic movies.
I'm a firm believer of change. If something isn't working, then, by golly, you do what must be done so that it works! This is a very broad opinion that could be applied to many aspects of life, but let's focus in on its relevance to fashion, seeing as this is a fashion blog, or whatever. When I was in middle school, I dressed like a complete dope. I wore elastic-waist-band jeans and the same Long Beach Island sweatshirt everyday all throughout seventh grade, and seventh grade was my least horrible year of middle school. I've never been to Long Beach Island. I don't even know if it exists. My repulsive sloppiness was mostly due to my nonexistent confidence, which was due to being very overweight. In eighth grade, however, things began to turn around. I started shopping at Urban Outfitters (you all remember how I gushed and gushed about that place in the early stages of this blog, don't you?) and I began actually selecting what I wanted to wear to school instead of throwing on whatever nasty hoodie was nearest me. All of a sudden, I got compliments from people on a skirt that I was wearing, or a top, and eventually whole outfits. By the time I had started wearing my mom's old clothes on a regular basis (because they finally fit me), I had established an unspoken reputation as a "fashionable" person. Few people remembered or commented on the fact that just a year before it was a big deal for me to take off that Long Beach Island sweatshirt that my cousin had received someone's bar mitzvah in 2006. I had changed, and it was awesome. That was around the point at which I began this blog. And that was another huge change, but that's a whole different story.
Think back to the end of Annie Hall, when Annie and Alvy break up. (Don't worry, I didn't just spoil the whole movie for you if you haven't seen it. This much is mentioned within the first three minutes of the film.) Annie moves to California and leads a more relaxed lifestyle, one more suited to her character. Alvy, on the other hand, stays in New York, doing exactly what he had been while he was still with Annie, although now he is also ruminating over his lost relationship. When they meet again in California, Annie is the happier of the two because she became more herself. Alvy didn't recognize that he had the ability to change, and therefore did not.
If no one else has told you, I'll be the one to say it (again): changing is not bad. Now that this has officially become Chicken Soup For the Soul, I'll just keep going. Different is not bad, either, and is generally freaking awesome. Let's continue with my Wiccan princess elf example. I know it's extreme, but it helps prove the point, ya know? If I were to actually start dressing as such, I would probably freak out everyone I know (at least for a little while). They might ask me what happened that caused me to look like a phantasmagorical creature witch queen. If I say nothing and proceed to try and cast spells on them in Elvish, I might scare and/or annoy them. Unless I am actually casting Elvish spells on them, they can just deal. They'll get used to it eventually if these friends are keepers. But before my peers can acknowledge that this change is necessary, I have to concede to this as well. Switching up the way I dress isn't being dishonest to my style or even myself; it's quite the contrary. If I were to wear the same clothing my entire life, that would probably be more untruthful. At first, it may seem like I am copying others, and I might be. Over time, all of these various personas and identities will all come together to form a truer version of myself, because no one else will have the same amalgamation of inspirations and sources that I will. Now would be a good time to let Tavi Gevinson articulate this further: "If you're sick of how you dress, keep an eye out for clothes that remind you of the images that have caught your eye and your heart, and you'll create your own style by feeling like you've internalized and made part of yourself all the things you really love through these clothes that hold personal references and memories."
Annie Hall does play a role in all of this, I swear. While watching the movie last night and seeing the classic Annie outfit (see above), I felt an urge to start wearing high-waisted dress pants and ties with partially buttoned vests. And in the next scene I wanted to wear whatever she was wearing. I started going through my wardrobe in my head, determining what was plausible and what was not. After the initial moments of interest, it became less about wanting to look like Annie and more about evaluating her influence on me. I like the way she dresses, and I want to like the way I dress. In order for me to do that, however, I can't become someone else, because that person is not me (duh). I have to take Annie's style in, chew it up, digest it, and it will mix in with every other source of inspiration in my life. All of these ideas form a nice big stew in my brain, and as long as I keep adding ingredients, the flavor will change.
