Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Sometimes I feel like I have a loyalty to fashion, a bond that, if broken, I will be submitted to the hounds of hell. It's almost like I am married to style, fashion and designers and we have this unspoken vow to one another that til death due us part, we shall remain committed. And even in the fiery pits of hell, because we all know that's where the style slaves end up, we mustn't part from one another. This attachment to fashion is slightly an obligation, but without the force. It's a dedication that I feel I not only owe to the industry, but I owe to myself. Throughout all of my darkest days, (and God only knows there's been a plethora of them), the one consistency in my life has always been style. People have fled, pets have died, money has diminished, but the spirit of style has stayed faithful to me regardless of the situation. It's kind of romantic in a cheesy, disgusting way if you ask me. Fashion and I, we've been through our rough patches, but our unconditional attachment and love for one another has remained. There's something really comforting about having one thing in your life that will never part from you and that you can pour every ounce of your energy, frustration, ecstasy, urgency and heart into. It makes the nights of solitude, sitting, sipping a glass of Pinot feel like a personal party for two.