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Mom Is Mad At Me
Several readers told me to go check out Mom of Shoes‘ new boots, so naturally I was curious enough to take a look. I left a nice comment but guess what? She deleted it! And not only that, she deleted another comment by someone else, who merely said she wasn’t crazy about the boots. Very, very sad.
Why have comments if you only print the supportive ones?!? What’s the point?
I wish I could remember my exact words! They were something like, “Don’t you worry that thigh high stiletto boots worn with fur will bring to mind hookers?” Then I added that every day, I myself have to fight off the temptation to dress like a prostitute or schoolgirl.
It’s not like I know a better way to wear thigh high boots. When I posted this photo back in October of 2008, a reader told me I looked like a drag queen.
I know Mom will be reading this, so let me just say: Dear Mom, I was trying to be playful! You can dress like a hooker if you want! It’s better than looking like a drag queen, right? I hope you’re not mad about that awful bell-sleeved coat, because you’ll still make a bundle of money on it. Love, SW
Inspirations
I came across this picture of a Nature Girl With Lesbian Stick while browsing at twistedlamb, a blog with a very strong sensibility I’ll call Pagan Hipster. It involves S & M, sexual ambiguity, Goth glamor and a whiff of bestiality. It’s the work of a stylist who manages to find strikingly sinister images that often attract and repel, without just relying on leather and spikes.
When can we call for a moratorium on leather and spikes? It’s like every sex-shop since the beginning of time has spewed its merchandise all over the fashion industry, leaving moto-this and moto-that everywhere. Enough, for godsake! The backlash is bound to be a return to modesty and preppy cleanliness. I think I’m ready for it.
Looking around the fashion blogs, I see how many are basically a collection of images, sometimes punctuated by a collage of “Stuff I Love!” or “Things That Inspire Me!” Kate Moss, Bridgette Bardot, Anita Pallenberg, and Jane Birkin are the usual style muses, then there’s some obscure Death Metal Band or European poet.
I’m more inspired by people like Tragic Fashion Boy, who makes a bold new statement with red (thanks to andrea for the tip!)
For some reason, even though he evokes my maternal instinct, I just can’t imagine being his mother. But in the photo below, I feel he is talking to his mom. Am I right?
Who is he talking to, and what is he saying?
English, Motherfucker! Do You Speak It?
So much fuss over words! And yet, what else do we have if we want to communicate? I am constantly amazed by how often people complain when you expect them to either say what they mean or mean what they say. I am accused of nitpicking if I repeat a word someone used when they don’t want to take responsibility for its actual meaning.
In a comment thread about Sarah Palin, I was upset by the misuse of the word nonplussed. But apparently, usage experts are beginning to acccept its use for the OPPOSITE of its definition. Nonplussed does not mean “nonchalant” or “not bothered!” It means the FUCKING OPPOSITE! Negro, please! It’s like when people think they can use the word “literally” to mean “figuratively.” Or “I could care less” when they mean “I couldn’t care less.”
No no no no no no. Words don’t, and never will, mean the opposite of themselves.
So, back to “Negro.” I was just testing you when I used it. Is it offensive? If so, why? Everyone is up in arms over the Harry Reid quote about Obama, characterizing him as a “light-skinned African American….who doesn’t use Negro dialect..” I swear to god, I don’t see the racism. Reid was just explaining why Obama was electable as President. He was an early Obama supporter and to me, it sounds merely factual. To many normal people (i.e. not Republicans) Reid’s language was decidely racist, even if forgivable.
John McWhorter, a linguist and journalist who is black, explains why he doesns’t find Reid’s comment racist. And he is quoted by Andrew Sullivan, who adroitly compares the greater acceptability of light-skinned Blacks to society at large to openly gay men who don’t seem effeminate.
Is it racist to even be aware of race? Do we have to be color-blind in order to escape being accused of racism?
Here’s a disagreement I just had with one of my nephews, who insists that Reid’s language is racist. Years ago, I was mugged on my doorstep by a big Black guy who grabbed my bag, knocked me down, and ran to a waiting car. When recalling the incident that’s exactly how I describe it. Am I racist for noting that the guy was Black? My nephew asked how I’d feel if someone described their mugger as a “big-nosed dirty Jew.” I’m pretty sure I’d laugh, as I am while typing this. Although I guess I’m a little annoyed by the nose reference, which I find size-ist, if not nose-ist.
Posted in News, Rants, Words
40 Comments
Awful Jeans of the Week
By our friends at Tripp.
Blogging and Seeking, Stupid and Sublime
A recent piece here about “The influence of fashion bloggers on retail” only states the obvious: Products that are flaunted by an online style arbiter are the new It thing to want and imitate.
This point was driven home to me by a look at Sea’s latest “find” from eBay, a stupid vintage band jacket. I went to eBay and typed in “vintage band jacket” and then clicked on “completed auctions.” Voila!
Seeing that the jacket sold for $426, I thought, OMG, what a sucker! But then I realized that this auction had JUST ENDED. This made no sense. Looking down the list of completed auctions, I saw an identical jacket that sold 5 days earlier for $90.
I think this means two things: 1) Sea’s fans are so desperate to imitate her that they will pay an inflated price to own a stupid band jacket. 2) Sea must be mortified that her kooky jacket isn’t one of a kind.
(Just kidding about number two!)
2) I have “too much time on my hands” or I am just nuts. Why else would I instinctively go straight to eBay to look for that jacket?
I am happy to have an answer to my own question, and I think it is hugely momentous. Humans have a drive that some scientists now call seeking. When you find yourself glued to your computer, clicking on link after link, googling shit that you didn’t know you cared about, looking desperately for something to engage your interest, you are displaying behavior that is hard-wired into your brain, behavior that would mean the end of your species if it were somehow extinguished.
Our brains are excited by the act of seeking, and the little bits of information we feed it serve to reinforce the activity. The internet provides the perfect tool for endless seeking, even though the search will never end in satiation. Unlike sex or ice cream, the internet search triggers our dopamine system without furnishing the opiate-like bliss that comes with satisfying a desire. It’s an endless loop. One that’s very, very hard to walk away from.
I’m going to get up off my asymmetrical ass and do something else. Maybe in time I can turn my seeking drive to curing cancer. Right now, I would be happy if I could direct it toward finding a job or even my watch.
Later, I know I’ll be clicking on all the links in that Slate article and my brain circuits will be ablaze with futile excitement.
Posted in Disorders, Fashion, Words
23 Comments
A Special Gift From Mrs. Palin
As McCain aid Steve Schmidt revealed on 60 Minutes, Mrs. Palin struggled to get Senator Biden’s name right, so she was advised to just call him Joe. Watch her screw up and call him “O’Biden” during this clip from their debate.
Haha Sarah, you ignorant slut! Never change; you are perfect just the way you are.
The Watch
In keeping with the Plague Upon My House, I have now lost my watch. It is a small, delicate antique watch with a rose gold case and some tiny rubies. There are only three places that I keep that watch, and it isn’t in any of them.
I keep going back to each of the three places, obsessively looking for the watch that isn’t there. I feel a pervasive longing for the watch even though I didn’t wear it every day. I’ve tried calling out to it, like a mother calling her child in from outdoors, but it doesn’t appear. I would say I’m heartbroken, but I hate to sound materialistic. Let’s say I’m “annoyed.”
When I complained to my sister last night about the watch, I attributed it to the Ongoing Plague. She stunned me by suggesting a root cause: I don’t have a Mezuzah.
If you don’t know what a Mezuzah is, it’s a metal thing that observant Jews are supposed to put by their front door, I think to ward off bad luck. I really don’t want to know more than that, because that’s stupid enough. The very notion that somehow I could have prevented bad things from happening by performing some ritual is just infuriating. It’s worse that The Secret! It’s superstition packaged in guilt. Maybe I’ve just stumbled upon a definition for religion; In any case, a god that would put a curse on me for not having a Mezuzah is just a total fucker who I want no part of.
Thinking about superstition, I asked my BFF if she would have any problem in reciting the words: “I will probably lose all my teeth and get pancreatic cancer in the next year.” I think most people would hesitate, fearful of tempting fate through some system of cosmic wrath. She dazzled me by reciting the words in a strong, godless voice, and I fell in love with her for the millionth time.
But back to the watch. The missing watch will continue to bother me, probably for eternity, but it reminds me of my favorite line from Pulp Fiction, when Christopher Walkin tells the young Butch the story of his grandfather’s watch. It’s a long, sentimental story that takes a wild turn with the revelation: “Five long years, he wore that watch up his ass.”
The word “wore” in that sentence is the difference between writing and poetry. It’s the best choice of word, one that I could never come up with, one that gives me a fresh thrill of pleasure each time I think of it.
So the moral of this post is as follows: Art is consolation in the face of chaos. (Wear that up your ass!)
Comments For Jane 1/7/10
Sea of Shoes continues her reign of terror by designing a coat for Gryphon, a perfectly nice fashion line until now. Without ever meeting in person, Sea was able to transmit her design for the hideous coat she is modeling in this photo. Note the awkward bell sleeves and icky attached pouch. If that’s not enough for you, Sea and Mom have SIGNED A BOOK DEAL! Isn’t that fabulous?!?
Sea won’t publish your comments, you stupid peons, but you can leave them here. I’ll go first.
Wow, awful coat, way to go! OMG, I heard about your book deal and asked myself, Where’s my book deal?? I wish I had an angle, like millions of shoes or a weird thing with my mom! Love, SW
Are You More Than Your Ass?
Just when you forget to worry about the size of your butt, photos of famous butts rise up to remind you. Kate Moss and Naomi Campbell are both enjoying their holiday in Thailand, but only one of them has a butt worth showing off.
Kate Moss is a goddess as far as I’m concerned, but her butt speaks of long dormant months on a couch snorting coke. She has no muscle tone but plenty of cellulite. Naomi may be a psychotic cunt, but try telling her butt that! It is perfection.
Today, I went for my first session of physical therapy post-hip injury, and I learned that my right gluteus medius muscle is now significantly weaker than my left one. If I don’t build it up through exercise, I WILL WALK FUNNY FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE! In fact I will have the Trendelenburg gait! As god is my witness, I don’t want the Trendelenburg gait, even more than I don’t want a sagging ass.
It’s unfair that women have to care about their asses when men get to walk around with any kind of ass. Even J Lo is being criticized for exhibiting a loss of ass-volume, as per this image from New Year’s Eve:
I would like to think that modern women are free of insecurity about their asses. I know there’s more to me than my butt. And yet…. As long as there are paparazzi around to document the fall of famous asses, I will be haunted by the worry of “How does my butt look in this?” I will feel judged by the state of my butt. It won’t matter what kind of person I am if my butt lacks merit.
First, I need to learn how to walk normally. Then, if I’m lucky, it’s back to being vain and superficial. I can’t wait!