Fashion Language

Monday, May 19, 2014

I've always had creativity in me like an itch waiting to be scratched. Ideas and psychotic thoughts that saw blank canvases bursting into demented paintings. A hidden muse inside me that drove me to pursue things like drawing and music. And I had always been intensely interested in the way people dress - the art of fashion - but this way my greatest fear of all, and one that I found the most difficult to let out. For in my first post, I told you about the difficulties I had with people, and anyone that knows fashion, knows that it is deeply social. If I had to think back on one day where the creative muse within me became to burgeon, it must have been this...

  Sometime in 2011
     A dreary Tuesday morning greets me with the pleasant beat of rain drops on my window. I proceed to press the snooze button an uncountable number of times as I roll around in that blissful bridge between waking and needing to divorce myself from the warmth of my bed. Okay, I really need to get up at 7:00am but I'll push it to 7:10am. 

     In the span of a few seconds, I launch myself from a state of half conscious euphoria into the panic of needing to complete my morning routine in overdrive. Shower and teeth - 5 minutes; Up N Go breakfast; bags packed.

What to wear? 

     In complete awareness of my actions (but I'd like to think it because I was in a rush) I decide: I will leave my perforated (actually hole-ridden) pyjama t-shirt on for University today. I swiftly don a pair of old jeans, accessorise myself with nothing, and top off the look with a practical pair of Haviana thongs. Perfect, except my hair which was tending toward the style of sex-hair mohawk. 

Bus. Headphones. Walking in the rain. Campus.

     I roll into my marketing lecture carrying my dirt-plagued surf brand backpack from high school. I spot my two favorite marketing buddies! Ashling interns at Vogue and  pulls off her slant cut bob effortlessly. She's wearing a bag with some Italian name on it I had never heard of at the time. Olivia is an intern at Louis Vuitton, and oozes a style that can be described as a good balance between being refined and containing enough points of interest in pattern, texture or shape for you to be intrigued as to who she is. 

     Upon scanning my OOTD, Olivia shoots me a look of disgust as if she actually wants to shoot me. Moments later, her and Ashling are engaged in heated commentary about the destitute state of my appearance...and moments after that, university isn't even an afterthought as I am ushered into the Queen Victoria Building Mall under the strict guidance of my companions who are guiding me from store to store as if it's the path toward the promise land.  

"We're helping you Jono."

     My bank account is down and I'm carrying clothes that I think are weird. I think part of what I had in my possession was an in-trend Aztec-print-pocket denim shirt and skinny chinos trousers. How super out there was my 2011 self. 

"Are you going to wear it out?"
"Wear it OUT!"

     I don't think they want to be seen in public with me. Anyhow, in aggravated compliance, I am now wearing my new clothing. I feel unusual, but interesting. 

     I didn't talk much back then and every time I put something on that said something to me, I felt like I could always say something without ever needing to open my mouth. Now 3 years later, I'm reading Miuccia Prada quotes and laughing at myself:

Fashion is instant language

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  1. Love it! I love your writing style and the story is super cute.


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