I owe my readers the most epic collection of blogs. And I know there is one reader in particular who is going to give me so much shit about this. To him I say….Stand back buddy, I’ve been busy.
My friend Sheanna was expressing a need to acquire a few pieces for her wardrobe, but sighed in the same way Sisyphus maybe does when he has to push that god-damn rock up the hill again. Shopping can be a huge drag, I’ve touched on this subject before–it’s a molotov cocktail of factors: the pictures of tall, thin models wearing the exact clothes you are about to try on, the florescent lighting, and the mirrors, and the change room, my god the change room, might as well call them the “hate yourself” room. That inevitable moment in the cramped space, staring at yourself in the mirror, under the harsh lighting looking at all your imperfections, those charming cellulite dimples, stretch marks, an unsightly bruise, it’s suddenly all you see. And why is every time you go shopping, it also happens to be on the same day when you wear mismatched socks or a pair of underwear so big you could tuck it under your bra and make a make-shift one piece bathing suit? None of this applies to me of course, ’cause my body is fucking amazing. I actually leave the door open just in case someone wants to sneak a peek at perfection.
Because I understand the anxiety of shopping, I’m actually quite adept at dressing people. I offer my assistance, and a shopping date is made. Sheanna huffs that she wishes she could make her own clothes (she’s learning to sew as we speak). She expresses a desire for flowing, earthy garments that billowed all around, and would actually look quite good if you were anywhere near a wind machine.
“So…you want to dress like Stevie Nicks“?
Oh my goodness, though I was making a joke, we both paused, as if to consider how wonderful life would be if we could just dress like Stevie Nicks, everyday, all the time.
“We should start our own Stevie Nicks fashion line. With every outfit purchased, you’d get a free tambourine”
There could be different lines, the ‘Leather and Lace‘ collection, the ‘Blue Denim‘ collection, we could do a collection for teens called “Edge of Seventeen“.
There would be a hat line for sure, and we’d call it “Stop Dragging My Hat Around”.
But really, we want clothes that go from day to night. These are clothes that you can snort copious amount of cocaine with your band in. You could be loving and leaving dudes like Don Henley or Lindsey Buckingham in these looks, and always feel comfortable and fabulous.
There’s nothing I don’t like about this idea. Sure, I might feel a little silly in the line up at the bank while wearing a giant, feathered top hat, my tambourine rattling whenever I shift weight on my feet. But at least I won’t feel bad in the change room. Oh yes, and at our boutique,the ‘Nicks Knacks’, the change rooms are giant spaces with plush furniture, fabulous music and soft lighting. But you won’t really need them, the items are so loose and flowing, that you can just try them on over your clothes. And there will be a wind machine. I’m looking forward to that.
Me neither Stevie, me neither.
All Images Courtesy of Google
Feeling very Stevie Nicks–”climbed a mountain and turned around” –a la “Landslide” today. It has been three months since I’ve started the blog, and I’m feeling reflective. Three months of writing every day–with the occasional meager sentence or brief paragraph. It has been a labor of love, and I have no intention of stopping. But what I’m realizing is that I still have so much to learn about writing, about patience, and most importantly, about confidence.
Last night, before we went out for dinner with friends, Ben and I were pushing against an Eastern Standard Time deadline for a creative non fiction contest. It wasn’t an issue of leaving it to the last minute…though it certainly looked like it. I didn’t get struck with writer’s block, which has become less and less a problem. It was more an issue of not feeling capable, or somehow unworthy of being an appropriate candidate. But, I pushed forward, worked diligently on the piece over the last week. Last night, I sat at my desk, reading aloud, combing through each sentence with my husband. And then I sent it…and I felt so much relief, not because it was over, but because I actually submitted. Whether I win the prize, or am even published (though both would be nice) I am out there trying to make it happen. No one will do it for me–and I’m not getting any younger, and as Stevie says–” time makes you bolder…and I’m getting older too”. She wrote that song before she was famous, about whether to pursue a career in music. And aren’t we all glad she didn’t become a dental hygienist? People drift towards where they are meant to, and I hope that the landslide brings me down to a better place…where I occasionally get to sling a tambourine and dress like this.
All Images Courtesy of Google