magic hour & geeking out

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This is less an outfit post than me prancing around at magic hour in a dress I’d forgotten I had, with hair that’s finally, finally long enough to be messy. (Seriously, HOW could I have forgotten this dress? I thrifted it two years ago for $13; something similar on, say, PinupGirlClothing would run over $100. I need to count my damn blessings.)

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I also thought I’d share an interest of mine that I don’t often mention here: medieval and Renaissance music. I am an absolute fool for madrigals, for antiphons, for hymns, for requiems, for lutes and fifes and minstrels. This is not exactly something people expect from me. I often feel like nothing about my personality is really cohesive, to the point where I’m like “if I were a fictional character, I would call myself unrealistic”. There’s a constant undercurrent of awareness that people probably think I’m “trying too hard” or making myself a special snowflake. I try not to care, but I am also loath to seem like a poseur.

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Anyway, here is the medieval/Renaissance/Celtic music playlist you didn’t know you needed!

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bootlegged

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I ventured a wee bit from my fit-and-flare comfort zone for last Saturday’s cabaret. Punk rock has never exactly been a province of mine. My tastes runs more to the Celtic and the new-age. But it was nice, in a way, to have my outfit already chosen for me: these are the only remotely punky clothes I own, so it was a done deal. None of the indecisive rigmarole that came with dressing myself for, say, the ’50s show, or the circus one.

Josh was in his element, though. There’s something deep in him that craves the rawness of a screaming guitar solo. He’s a devout metalhead, and I’ve seen him do a mean Slash cosplay. Plus, his hair is the perfect length for headbanging.

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compliments and complements

I saw my favorite band tonight. I’d mentioned the show in a previous post, and tonight it was finally here.

Barry Privett, the frontman, signed my ticket stub, and then I got my picture taken with him. I’m posting it even though I look egregiously deranged (or “impeccably blissful”. We’ll go with that.). He told me he liked my outfit. Hear that? The sexy-ass frontman of my favorite band ever (full disclosure: I’ve seen them twice before) liked my outfit.