Soul of the South West
Slowly wandering her way through the unbelievable heat, the woman makes her way down the concrete and asphalt streets of the suberbs, under which her beloved desert lies. She is walking to work: a little shop nestled among one of the valley's many strip malls. It sells souvenirs reminding foreigners on their way to such destinations as the Grand Canyon and simple seniors vacationing away from the cold of their visits to her vast desert. Her retro sunglasses slowly begin to slide down her moist nose till her finger simply must push them back up. She does not mind the heat, in fact, she enjoys it. In the distance, her sun-bleached eyes stare toward the still, purple mountains in the distance, squeezed between a multitude of palm trees and dirt-colored buildings. Her feet sweat between the interesting, although not quite practical, material of her shoes. Her colorful dress occasionaly dances around her legs with the passing of the occasional speeding car. Through all the little dramas of her clothes, however, she wouldn't change a thing. At that moment, she embodies the soul of the south west, even if her world may try to cover it up.
The Allure of Lace
Oh, the nerve of wearing a large, lacy bra instead of a shirt! Her mother claims that she did so quite often in the '80s but is it appropriate now? Is she nearly as brave as her mother? Unable to stop herself, he mind leads itself to the question, in life as well as in clothes? No! She puts an end to the self-doubt. I am wearing this. But?.....no! Her outfit is very smart. The lace in her bow reflects the lace in her bra as well as the purse without being too terribly matchy-matchy. The bow itself combined with the length of that skirt really does make the whole ensemble a little more innocent or decent or something. Ok, she reminds herself, stop with the doubt. This is a new twist on classy. Slowly, however, this forced declarative sentence slowly melts into a question. Ugh! She sighs, I need to put a shirt on! Just as she begins to walk over to her closet, however, the doorbell rings. The compelling need to be polite overcomes her and she rushes to the door simply to tell her friends they must wait for her to change her shirt, she doesn't know what she was thinking! But, as she opens the door, she is greeted by coos of: "I love your shirt!" "You are so brave! I could never get myself to wear that! It looks great!" "You are so clever with your clothes!" "It reminds me of a pin-up girl, yet it's so classy!" "There's just that undeniable allure of lace, you know." Her mouth hanging ajar, the words that find their way out of her mouth turn out to be let's go.
Insanity is Surely Glamorous
The barista behind the counter stares at her a little strangley as he hands her her coffee. So do the rest of the people gathered wall to wall in her usual independantly-owned, daily-visited coffee shop. She replies with a sweet little thank you and heads out the door. The sun immediately brings her shorts to life, reflecting like a disco ball on the million, tiny sequins attached to it. She casually slips her slightly cat-eyed sunglasses up to her eyes, putting the icing on the cake. She is surrounded by girls fretting horribly to fit in. To only be noticed for their ability to assimilate into the culture of Hollister or Abercrombie. Such girls stare especially at the strange, perhaps partially insane, girl who not only wears noticable pieces, but who makes surefew things actually match. The woman does not dress this way for the attention, she truly dresses for herself, yet she enjoys it anyway. For that simple outburst of creativity she had that morning before going to get her coffee, she is now stared at as if she was famous. Insanity is surely a glamorous state of being.
Life Outside of the Studio
In the dressing rooms, she is transformed. One moment, her body is squeezed between tubes of spandex which span from her sholdures to her toes. The next, she floats through the air in her little pink dress that has always made her feel more like a ballerina than her career ever has itself. As she slips out of her leotard and tights and into the clothes for the rest of her life, she feels her co-workers eyes sneaking over to see what she picked for the day. What they find is the ballerina they all knew in the studio molded into the confines of everyday life. Her dress is so flowy, so pink, so romantic (some are reminded of a picture book they once read as children called "All Tutus Should Be Pink"). The rosy ties on her platform shoes continue the idea of the ballerina with their subltle reflection of the ballet shoes which moments ago carried her body across the stage. The turquoise accessories that orbit her delicate face act as the sole reminders that she is not truly in the middle of performing a ballet at the moment, but on her way to living a life outside of the studio.
All clothes are from Ruche.