While thinking about what to write about, I started thinking about how easy it would be to update if this were one of those fashion blogs that just uploaded photos of their outfits and friends, with a little caption underneath.
Truthfully though, at this stage its a bit of a stretch to call this blog a 'fashion blog', with Tilly's lovelessofthelorn period and my tendency to be be, errrr, moody/broody/doody. If anything, I guess I would call this a normal blog of two girls (read: angst-ridden) and the stuff that runs through their heads. Be thankful that we dont write about the stuff that runs through our loins. I had proposed the creation of this blog to Tilly for three reasons.
- To have a platform to sphew out fashion stuff without having to constantly defend our interests/tastes to ironically, our other friends.
- To wean me off my ennui towards writing.
- An added blockage to nudge us away from the edge of the precipice.
But there is a secret wish. One that is as ambitious as it is twisted. It would be a extremely stupid to try and hide it, or even deny it, one that is out there as soon as we created this blog. Yes, we do wonder what it would be like if this blog 'took off'. What can we say except that we are longing for an escape from our current lives, and we grasp at anything that doesn't have its conclusion written out for it? Who doesn't wish for an alternative existence? Perhaps it isn't pleasant to read this, but I know that everyone who has a public blog or reads a blog has the same thought jogging through their heads in slow motion.
You want publicity. Of any kind.
There is a masochistic narcissism in the posting of one's photo on the internet, allowing ourselves be judged by strangers who are able to dole out harsh criticism behind the safety of anonymity. Admire their courage, certainly. However, people who claim that they post photo after photo of themselves on the internet for the sole reason of 'fun' are kidding themselves. Come on, at least admit that there is vanity as well? Vanity exists in the heart of every human being, its nothing to be shameful about and its ridiculous to try and deny its presence in our everyday lives.
Fashion bloggers get a lot of flak for being superficial. But we live in a world where thousands of viewers tune in to watch car-crashes and natural disasters on television, research to find pictures of celebrities in their lowest and most humiliating moments, and we salivate watching real people tear into each other on reality shows. Fashion bloggers are simply another source of fodder for a society that enjoys seeing others in misery and misfortune. I think its humorous when I meet people who claim that they are good people who wouldn't dream of doing anything as bad as enjoying seeing others in pain.
From the moment they peek under their squeamish eyelids to see photos of a bloody carcass, its their morbid curiosity that negates their claim of morality. They wouldn't dream of dirtying their hands, but they would like to see the end results of another's persons handiwork. Squawking vultures.
Even though I know this, it doesn't stop me from wanting to move forward to someday post photos of ourselves on this blog. Isn't it typical from a descendant of Eve and Pandora?
The difference is that I think I'd prefer to wear a mask in the photos. Idiotic, isn't it? I would post pictures of myself, but I'd still hide my identity. Its being a photo tease. Its saying, "Look at me, but not directly at me."
Ask Tilly, and she'll agree wholeheartedly that I have always had trouble having my photo taken. Much hair pulling and arm wrenching was administered to get me to stand in for photo sessions. Not so much because the camera will suck out my soul, but rather because the photo captures my soul - and fuck is it an ugly soul. I am seriously not photogenic, but it must be because of the fuckuglysoul thing. I'm not being derogatory, merely truthful. People tend to see my photo, and then when they meet me, they tell me I look so different than what they pictured. It always makes me want to sigh. Therefore, it is better to wear a mask for the advantages to it are two-fold. Firstly, people won't see my soul, secondly I don't need to pretend to smile. Or look nonchalant. Or look like I don't know that my photo is being taken. Or bashful. Or, egads, sultry. (Fyi: I can only do sleepy, crazy or pissed off.)
If I could choose what kind of mask I'd wear, I would pick a horse head. It brings to mind one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse, The Godfather and furthermore, horse heads in general tweak my fascination with their crazy bulging eyes and fat tongues lolling out of their mouths.
So, brace yourselves. Someday you'll see a photo of me. And of Tilly. (you can choose your own mask, by the way.) And you'll be able to rest easy, knowing that we know that you know that we know that we are being masochistic-ambitious-narcissistic bloggers. And then you'll be able to criticize without restraint.
Maybe I'll look like that. I look fooooooooooorrrrrrward to it. Harumph. *stomps hoof*