Wednesday, February 12, 2014

Fashion Forward

I’d been listening to radio in the morning as I prepared to take the most demanding daily commute daily into the. The commute was to be damned because no amount of gerrymandering could ever seem to sort it out. One day the train was fifteen minutes early, the next fifteen minutes late.

Yesterday I stood on the platform and they announced the following:

The Westbound train is running twenty to thirty minutes late due to signal trouble on the train.

The Eastbound train is indefinitely delayed.

Meaning being even if I could get into the city I might never get out again. I couldn’t help but to think that it really was as if somewhere Kafka was narrating the winter commute in the city. My commute had quickly lost what little humor it had.

In the meantime, I listened to the radio in the morning as I prepared for the job, for the trundle. I sat by my computer and prepared to head toward whatever fresh hell had been introduced into my commute for this morning and listened. Most of the time whatever I'd heard about in the mornings was not worth commenting on, usually because I felt so powerless. Syria continued to go to hell and our government will never interfere because they can’t afford to lose a base that is precipitously close in the Balkins; North Korea and South Korea were having their usual spring tiff, the weather sucked everywhere, taxes, health care, life death. I filtered it all in, listening, sometimes better than others. A few days ago my love had to turn off the radio when a regular features (The Sharing of Lives) decided to focus on abduction and forced sexual slavery. He knew me well enough to know that this was not acceptable morning listening and could well throw me off for an entire day.

The Boy got ready; I listened to the radio. The funniest things sometimes will stick in my head from the listening. This morning it was a set on New York fashion week which was wrapping up. The exchange was something like this.

“What can we expect from this year’s show?”

“Oh, well, it will be very good for women this year.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, all the designers have really loosened up the clothes. One designers has designed big puffy sweaters and skirts. Another has nice dresses that don’t cling to every single bit of skin.”

“Oh, that will be very nice. Freeing, all that room to breathe.”

On one level, I understood that the exchange seemed so mundane as to jump of the cliff into obscure banality; however, it just struck me for some reason. Was the entire nation so terribly enslaved to what these fashion designers present that they couldn't for a moment figure out how to wear comfortable clothes if they are not “in”?

There was a lot to that; the entire hipster movement was surly a comment on this. The seriously scary trend among some teens to have a “thigh gap” (being so skinny that your thighs don’t touch) was a good sign; the kind of anorexia that hasn’t been seen since the late sixties was suddenly going to be “in” again.

None of this was why it struck me though.

All I could think, as I stood there, coat in hand getting ready for commute was “Thank the merry goddess I make my own clothing, because that is some stupid shit.”

My life, seven a.m. Deep thoughts. Fashionable thinking.

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