slowing it down

First of all, let me announce far and wide that I haven’t forgotten about y’all, or this blog, or even (perish the thought) Halloween itself. I lost my $%&*$#& tripod, probably thanks to seasonal gremlins. Although I could probably wheedle some photos out of my loved ones, it’s just not the same as manning the shutter myself. Prepare, though, for a massive backlog of posts (including my excruciatingly belated Halloween costume) when I either find it or suck it up and shell out for a new one. In the meantime, I’ll be filling this blog with writing, non-fashion photography, and maybe a few pretty pictures from elsewhere on the web.  And today I’m unveiling something I’ve been pondering for a while now.


You’ve seen this picture before, but look – it’s an entirely vintage/thrifted outfit!

Starting on January 1st, I will no longer be participating in fast fashion. I’ve been disappointed for some time with fashion blogging’s emphasis on consumption over creativity. I’m tired of same-old-same-old editorials with brand names in full, obnoxious view, as though the price tag were the end-all of a garment.  I’m tired of uninspired outfit posts with no story to tell, just a label to flaunt. The way I see it, fashion blogging is supposed to be about bringing the art of clothing to a wider audience. Taking it into our own hands and pioneering new styles. I’m all about the democratization of high fashion (and high art in general). There are so many talents out there whose work might never see the light of day were it not for the internet and blogging culture. So it kinda bums me out when I see post after post about endless acquisition of off-the-rack basics. Where’s the fun in that? Where’s the creation of something the world has never seen before?

On its face, I don’t really have a problem with this. Hell, I’m not immune to attention-whoring when I find a really excellent vintage hat. But I’m tired of pretending that the glorification of status and materialism has no cost. I want to acknowledge that much of American culture’s pursuit of beauty ascends at the expense of human rights and environmental preservation. Yes, I know that Forever 21 dress is cute. But what’s that cuteness worth? Exploited children, shoddy factories, erasure of real craftsmanship? Not to mention that it’ll fall apart after three or four washings, and you’ll be left browsing the racks once again, perpetuating the cycle. I’m done with it.

Starting on January 1st, I will be buying exclusively vintage, thrifted, and handmade clothing. Admittedly, that isn’t much of a statement, coming from me. The clear majority of my clothes already fall into at least one of those categories. But I do occasionally cave in and go nuts at Charlotte Russe or Urban Outfitters. In two months, it stops. As a fashion blogger, I sit in a uniquely advantageous position: I can prove, with visual evidence, how awesome secondhand clothes can look. There’s so much clothing in the world. Why should it fall to ruin because predominant mores decided it’s no longer relevant?

So much of the activism in the fashion world is ultimately superficial. Yes, it’s great that so many people are pushing for a more inclusive perspective of beauty. It’s great that more companies are expanding their audience by marketing to different sizes and economic brackets. But if your definition of “inclusive” includes only those who have the privilege of contemplating fashion in the first place, it’s fundamentally flawed. Compared to the other flaws in the fashion industry, it’s one big ol’ first-world problem. How about including the often indigent workers, the local communities displaced by factories and urban sprawl, the children asthmatic from pollution, in the global discourse on fashion? How about finding balance between luxury and sustainability?

Beauty is tainted when its production is ugly. I am not okay with seeing my art propped up by corrupt, ozone-frying industries. I’m not going to pretend the gobbling of shoddy resources isn’t just another tick of the metaphorical time bomb. And on a more personal level, I care about the fashion world. I love its glitz and grotesquerie, and I damn well want its art to last. It’s the very least I can do to support ethical production and earth-safe materials. We have to lift this metaphorical house from the sand and plant it firmly on solid ground.

Starting January 1st…

  • I will buy primarily from local secondhand/vintage stores. Not only does that recycle the old, it supports the local economy.
  • I will also buy handmade artisanal garments when I can. Etsy is my friend here.
  • No more box stores or fast fashion franchises. No Urban Outfitters, Charlotte Russe, etc. I will, however, keep doing my research, and if certain box stores are particularly ethical, I will continue to patronize them.
  • I will begin making my own clothes more often. I’d like to find sustainably produced fabrics, too, but that will be a later project. I’m easing in.
  • I will keep what I already own. Poorly produced though some of it may be, I find it ultimately disrespectful to throw it out for some grand ideological reason. It was made, I’ve bought it, and I might as well get all the use from it that I can.
  • I will consult Annika’s ethical clothing directory as often as I can. That girl is doing great work.
  • I’m undecided about what to do if someone gifts me a fast-fashion item. Family and friends know about my pledge, and I have no qualms about reminding them of it when holidays and birthdays roll around, but what about acquaintances? Distant relatives? Family friends? Handing it back or asking for the receipt seems like such a cringingly awkward thing to do. Has anyone else who’s made a similar pledge figured out a good system for this?

i just keep getting tackier and tackier

The only parts of this outfit I paid money for are my pants and two of my rings, which cost me $9 total. Last spring I found this sweater in a box on the side of the road, and it’s one of my favorite possessions. Hat – hand-me-down from my cousin. Harley boots and lapis lazuli ring – hand-me-downs from my mother. Rubik’s cube necklace – free at Battery Street Jeans (it had been there so long they just let me have it. I guess I really am the tackiest person in Burlington). Scarf – Halloween gift from my godmother. Jacket – costume box!

Sweater, Skinny Jeans, Necklace, and Rings: Battery Street Jeans Hat: Handed down from cousin Boots: Handed down from Mom Jacket: Handed down from neighbor Scarf: Halloween gift from my godmother

snake-oil salesgirl

I spent yesterday down at Battery Street Jeans, taking advantage of September’s 20%-off-with-student-ID promotion. I found a veritable assload (how I love combining high and low diction) of luscious vintage blouses. Best part? No individual piece cost more than $6.

Y’all know I love creepy-crawlies. ‘Til now, I’d relied mostly on skulls and spiders (though I’ve had my eye on a certain eyeball headband for a while). Today marks my sojourn into the serpentine.

I’ve realized that contrast, sharp contrast and lots of it, is my predominant stylistic trope. High and low diction. The louche and the ladylike. The gory and the graceful. I’m always a little anachronistic – never sliding fully into whichever era I’m embodying that day. I like it that way. In this outfit, the necklace is what does it. The pop of garish kitsch against the more elegant blouse and skirt really ties everything together.

My hair is red again. I couldn’t stay away.

I need to tailor this skirt. I have to safety-pin it when I wear a belt, and even then it bulges oddly. This weekend I plan to sit down and alter a whole bunch of clothes.

First time wearing my Harley boots this fall! It was too warm for tights today. I rather like the bare-legged look.

Blouse, Belt, Skirt, and Necklace: Battery Street Jeans Boots: Handed down from Mom Skull Ring: 18th birthday


Here’s the song this post makes me think of. (Carbon Leaf is my absolute favorite band and I’m seeing them on November 3rd!)


Burgundy is proving a lovely color for me. I feel more “classic bohemian” and less “strung-out hippie.” Today I felt like I belonged in a folk ensemble.

Lately my bras have been sagging and stretching, to the point of mammary discomfort, so I trekked to Victoria’s Secret and got myself refitted. Turns out I am in fact a 34D, not a 34B-C as I have been wearing since puberty. I invested in two new bras that fit, and I can’t believe how much more comfortable I am. And now I have the nice little ego boost of getting to call myself a D-cup.

Lately I’ve been avoiding high-waisted skirts due to trouble finding any that didn’t ride up, bisect my stomach, or cling to my hips. I’ve finally found one that doesn’t. I bought it yesterday at Dirt Chic. The waist is loose enough for comfort but fitted enough not to add bulk. The pleats manage to be swingy rather than heavy. One problem I run into with longer skirts is the tendency for too-long A-lines to sag into a tulip shape, which makes my short legs look even shorter. I don’t see that happening with this one, which is great. It’s also short enough to show the meaty part of my calves. When only my ankles are visible, my legs look downright disproportionate.

Purple! I love it.

Oh hello, 34D.

I have so much skull swag at this point in my life. I ought to do a compilation post featuring nothing but.


Update! I’m actually serious about the modeling thing. I’ve decided to look beyond just goth stuff and investigate all kinds of alternative modeling. Yesterday my awesome friend Anna and I did a photo shoot in City Hall Park, with an actual camera, actual scenery, and actual costume changes. I’ll upload the photos as soon as I’ve sorted them (we got about 600). I’m officially building a portfolio, and I’d like to start freelancing soon.

I’m fully aware that modeling has the trashiest reputation of all the visual arts (“all you do is stand around and look pretty!”), and I’m steeling myself for the onslaught of stupefaction that a former Latin major now aspires to make a living off her appearance. I can say with confidence that it’s a hell of a lot more than looking pretty. There’s real synergy in a successful photo shoot, a kind of collusion with the camera and instinct for how best to convey your mood and your creative vision. It’s stationary acting: you’re telling a whole story using nothing but the structure of your body and what’s on it. Still refuse to call it an art? Attend one of my shoots sometime.

I almost forgot your song!