So, how about that New York Fashion Week, huh? No, I wasn't there. But Vanessa Friedman's article in the NYTimes was enough to shake me out of my blogger hibernation. Why? Well, because she used words like fractured, decentralized, and unfocused right next to words like Marchesa, Lauren, and Jason Wu. I read that and I thought, right on, that's exactly what my life has been lately. (My wardrobe too but that's another matter.) Oh, I'm not complaining and neither was she. If there's one thing Vanessa and I both agree on, it's the blurriness of life in our times. Or, as she put it, "… comfort with ambiguity and the end of certitude, and a certain faith in your own aesthetic compass." I love those words. I want to print them on a t-shirt and wear them rebelliously, with leather boots.
Here's the thing. When I click through on articles about fashion weeks I'm looking for guidance. I want to know where the line is this week between looking trés chic and, well, not. But what Vanessa tapped into in her NYFW review was the art part. The part where the designers show us what we're feeling. The part that reflects our collective psyche, rather than informing it. Or maybe in addition to informing it. Because what I got from her article was that, when it comes to fashion, we're a bit all over the place … and maybe that's okay.
I bring all this up because Marcus and I have been moving around a lot lately and some people are a little bent out of shape about it. Rolf Potts touches on this phenomenon in his book Vagabonding, but mostly in the returning home after an extended time away and feeling like a foreigner in your home town vein. In my case, it's the whole permanent address thing. You're supposed to be from a place. A specific place. Permanently. Taxes, car registration, passports, paying clients. They all want to pin you to a spot on the map.
Blur the lines, drop in some ambiguity, follow your own compass and you freak people out. And maybe that's okay.
Embrace the ambiguity. Put it on a t-shirt and wear it with leather boots.