Today I begin something again. I have a nasty habit, like many others, of never finishing what I start -- books, blogs, journals, etc. The only way I can continue writing, I think, is if I write exclusively for myself. I will no longer haunt the pages of Google Analytics wondering how many people are reading my musings. It would be naive of me to say that I don't care if people read; I do. I can, however, only write about that which I care about or the endeavor is pointless.
I've been fascinated by fashion for a small time all things considered. I grew up in the country where camouflage and sports team sweatshirts were chic. Studying abroad in Florence, Italy fanned the small flame, I suppose, and here I am. Armed with The Thames & Hudson Dictionary of Fashion and Fashion Designers and the last two Vogue Collections (Fall/Winter 2010 and Spring/Summer 2010), I plan to learn about fashion and document it for myself along the way.
I have to confess that this is not just some frivolous occupation. I am determined to prove something. Some are born into the world of fashion, or, at least into a world in which high fashion is within reach. I would like to prove that however genius designers are, their creations are born from imagination. Thus, wearing labels, or not wearing them, does not dictate anything since imagination is something afforded to all. I would love to own a Dior gown or a Chanel knit suit, but I don't have the means. Does this ban me, or others like me, from being fashionable or respectable? No it does not. So begins my mission.
(Photo courtesy of The Satorialist)