the ragged mummer

I haven’t done a straight-up super!artsy costumed shoot in too long. I’ve been fantasizing about lush summer pinups and proto-gaias rolling in the dirt, and it’s just not time yet. We’re still, for now, stuck in the in-between.

The solution? Get dressed up and play Spring Herself, of course. The petticoated piper, trailing birdsong and moonshine in her wake.

For a purer ~aesthetic~, I recommend this musical accompaniment.

(Note that I took these before dyeing my hair back to pink. Forgive my roots.)

lawnmowers everywhere

I’m a seasonal creature. I’d like to blame the obsessive-compulsive disorder, but I can’t very well pathologize every quirk, every tic. Some things are features, not bugs.

I divide my life in four, in twelve, in fifty-two: wherever I can see dichotomy, I milk it. It’s spring. Time to do Spring Things. Which are worlds apart from summer from autumn from winter things.

Spring things are birth and agency and everything we’ve missed through our snowy shackles. Drama and fluorescence and heady breezes signaling heartbeats ever faster. Sequins, absinthe, and naked extravagance.

Carbon Leaf, Celtic Woman, and medieval polkas.

To life.

 

vernal victory

 

So here’s a secret: this is my favorite dress. It’s one of those garments that has become mythologized and a little sacred, so much so that I’m slightly scared of wearing it. Most of the time, it hangs proudly on my wall, but sometimes it just looks so sad and empty. Everyone knows that garish ’80s polyester is prone to low self-esteem and feelings of rejection. It’s high time I dusted it off in celebration of stamping out seasonal affective disorder – or, as the plebes call it, the first day of spring.

 

 

 

 

Dress, Necklace, & Bow: Old Gold Cardigan: Battery Street Jeans Belt: Goodwill Tights & Socks: Gifted