What if I'm tone deaf and I don't know it?
Before you shake your head, and muse at the silliness that is the (sorry to say) stereotypical female mind, it is an actual possibility that I may be tone deaf and don't know it. Largely because I don't sing or hum in front of other people, so no one has had the opportunity to bleed from their ears and tell me, "Loren, for the love of Prada! Will an apology suffice to get you to stop that painful yowling or do you need the contents of my bank account as well? My first born?"
On the very rare occasion in which I'm trying to find a song, I tend to tell the music store clerk what the song is about, monotonously drawl out the lyrics...and if I'm really desperate, I'll do the hand/dance movement that came from the music video/commercial. (that was for that Jet - Are you gonna be my girl? song. Great badge of embarrassment I earned that proud day.) But this bird will not sing.
I know that I'm not talented vocally. But I don't know if I'm tone deaf. Its that proverbial tree in the forrest. And then my mind started to fell another tree.
What if I'm horrible and no one compliments me about it?
What if I'm nice and no one someone insults me to let me know?
What if I'm a genuinely good, upstanding citizen, moulded by the government to obey without question, and hypnotised by the media to live my life by their expectations, and in it all become the perfect by-product of this century....and I have no original thought?
Actually the last one is probably true.
I tend to live alot in my own head, partially by choice, partially by lack of choice, and after a nightmarish stint during my adolescent years where I decided to take a step outside my own head and listen to other people.........and being reduced to a skittish, insecure, aim-to-please, always on the edge of hyperventilating doormat, I decided that listening to the people in my head was a hell of a better way to live. Noisier, but at least they state their cases in turns.
Its just that every now and then, a part of me passes by a window in my mind that looks to the outside, and it gives me pause to wonder what are other peoples' perception of me. With no group of friends surrounding me to chastise, berate, criticize and plan out my every decision and choice for me, I hardly ever receive any feedback as how I am doing as a human being.
I would ask Tilly, but I know what she'd say because I know how I treat her, and because I know her. She'd coat the criticism in triple layers of compliments, and dunderhead that I am, I'll be happy munching on the sweet layers and forget about the dark center. She's too nice to me.
Its just weird. All of this is a repetition. I know all this. I even know what I would be saying next, something along the lines of, "Its at times like this that I realize that sometimes, we need an outsiders point of view, and we cannot always rely on our self-perception to analyze things." I know all of this because I've thought exactly this way every time I look outside of my own window.
Perception, perspective - its all relative. Just like literature, or politics, or fashion.
For example, Nicholas Ghesquière's latest collection is up for scrutiny. What was he thinking when he created this? What purpose did it have? Did he plan on showing it this way? Did he expect people to see his clothes in this way? Was he trying to say something else that I don't get? He may have meant one thing, and I may be seeing it as something else entirely. Maybe that's the point. Maybe there is no point. Maybe I am just running out of points to point out.
Times are bad. Let's mate with animals to develop their skins in order to survive. Gorrilla hands, anyone? Scare predators away with a hand/paw shake. The strength to pummel the woman reaching for that last pair of Christian Louboutins on sale, and the inability to ever hook a bra clasp again. Especially those triple hook torture bras.
That's just one perception.
The Pre Fall collection for Balenciaga only has one similarity with the previous Spring RTW collection, and that is the sharp skinny pants. The Pre Fall pants have the dreaded harem pants influence (when is that going away?) but luckily the details in the waists and the skinny legs prevent them from looking like every other aladdin-wanna-be pants out there. They actually are making me consider trying a pair on....briefly.
The color palette for Fall according to Mr. Ghesquière is in a word, somber. Muted shades of greys, silvers, blacks, olive greens, soft nude, and eggshell dominate the collection. There isn't any kaleidoscope mixture of colors and sequins that was in his seemingly sci-fi inspired Spring collection. The styles and shapes of the garments are a lot softer and dare I say it, wearable in comparison. Lengths of skirts have been dropped, jackets are no hard outer shells, but smart fitting garments with attention to detail.
All in all, it seems that the women he has designed this collection for, are all poised for hard work and battle ahead, dealing with reality soberly without fuss or whimpering.
Simplicity. Indeed, the models' hair are swept to the side and slicked off their 'bare of makeup' faces, understated jewellery, hands at their sides in fur mitts or black gloves - reminding me of a boxer's stance. It is still a beautiful collection, saved by the quirkiness of the huge fur mitts (difficult not to call them 'gorilla hands') and the clever structuring of garment pieces. Mr. Ghesquière has proven in the past that his creative vision is on a planet of its own, and now he is showing that he can scale it back to produce something classic and ladylike, but with his own unique way of looking at it.
One can only imagine what it is like to look through his eyes, and his mind at the world.
Maybe he's tone deaf but doesn't know it too. Hum.