1. The recent fashion weeks all over the place, particularly London and New York, have been getting a ton of coverage (as much for the people in the front row as the clothes), and yet I can't get interested in them. It could be because I'm distracted by the politics; the nonsensical defenses of racist castings, and the whole idea of fashion being a significant concern when the world is going to hell in a handbasket - not that I don't believe in art, beauty, or escapism, because I sincerely do. But the scene is making me feel more uneasy than usual; perhaps because it seems less about originality and more about trends (which, admittedly, is nothing new), and peopled by a group who have the power and resources to do so much good, and squander them. The fashion-related story I've enjoyed most in recent times was that of Russell Brand being kicked out of the GQ (pfft) awards for calling out Hugo Boss on his/its Nazi past (of which I was completely unaware). Unfortunately the reports were all in the vein of "how rude/inappropriate/irrelevant/blasphemous", but they've still brought to attention the awful beginnings of a powerful fashion house (not that this will change anyone's behaviour; people still shop at Ikea and join the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints - NO JUDGEMENT), and I think that's a good thing. I'm way off topic now, but if you'd like to read what he said about his speech and the party, you can read it here. What he says about the party kind of reflects how I feel about fashion shows; there's certainly fun to be had, but taken too seriously, they're a bit scary (and I don't mean intimidating; I mean like Stepford-scary).
2. After all that, here are a couple of dresses from Rachel Comey that I quite like. I say "quite" because I don't love them, but if I had a snack, or a hope of fitting them in the foreseeable future, or I hadn't just said that about fashion, then maybe I would. WE WILL NEVER KNOW. All images from Style.com.
And, after bagging trends, I should say I like this '80s off-the-shoulder thing that's been happening. When I was a kid, that meant GLAMOUR, and I think that ideal still lives within me somewhere.
3. I gotta tell you, pregnancy is tiring stuff, man! By the time you've had breakfast, showered, and gotten dressed (I would add brushed teeth but for the fact it's hit 5pm several times before I've realised my teeth haven't seen my toothbrush yet...), you're so ready for a nap it's not funny. Two hours of normal-light activity and I'm starving, exhausted, and getting into that grumpy rut where I have a face like thunder and want to throw things, and it takes several hours, a litre of water, and a large meal to restore peace. And when the Huggies website said my skin would be glowing and lovely this week? They lied. Though I suppose the pimple on my forehead might have been described as "glowing" when it was at its peak.
4. It seems there was a bit of miscommunication about the shop, and the floors aren't finished yet, nor are they likely to be until Monday, so there's been no painting this week. There has, however, been buying, and there has been gardening. Yes friends, I'm a gardener. It's early days; I've had no time to kill anything yet, but I know how to weed now, and the fancy gardening things I was given before I left Auckland now have real, live dirt on them. As far as buying goes, today we finally went to Halls Bros (in what is now my favourite part of Dunedin - the old factories near the port, which are full of history and atmosphere) and it was like a little scrap-wonderland. If you're ever looking for interesting door/drawer-handles, light-shades, or windows (they have a million other things besides), you have to go there. It's not even dark and dingy like most salvage places; you can find awesome stuff without even having to earn it with sneezes and general discomfort.
5. A bit of disillusionment; I discovered yesterday that my former hero and half of what I thought the most wonderful couple in history was not who I thought he was, and having put up photos of him before on this blog, I have to own it here. John Lennon, you guys, was not good to women - he was violent and hateful towards them. It breaks my heart to say it and admit those feet are clay, but I'm one of the people with pitchforks out for Chris Brown, and I can't excuse Lennon's behaviour on the basis that I love his music and admire other things he did. It's a sad time in our house. It took a really sympathetic interview with Mojo (best magazine in the world) shortly before his death to make me feel anything but cold indifference with a dose of abhorrence for Ike Turner, and while Lennon had his share of problems, he wasn't a black man born in Mississippi in 1931 who witnessed the near-fatal beating of his father by a white mob when he was just a kid. I just sighed. "Man hands on misery to man..." etc.
6. I hate ending on an even number but I can't leave us all like that - I should probably apologise for the generally pessimistic tone of this entire post. It seems, in my fourteen and a half weeks of experience, that during pregnancy the highs are higher and the lows are LOW, and I've always been the emotional type anyway. So, even though it's a lazy way to end and I already employed it earlier in the week - a song, to make us happy again. Beside gardening, I recently decided that my newly-discovered/acknowledged love of disco can be described as an interest, and henceforth began my collection of disco favourites. This song isn't a new discovery, but it's one of the happiest disco songs I can think of, and I think disliking this song is akin to disliking candy floss, or something. Have a good weekend, and if you're in Dunedin - see you at the Port Chalmers Seafood Festival! I'll be the woman with the undone jeans, complaining about not being able to eat raw oysters, and fluctuating between crying at his songs and trying to get Don McGlashan to talk about the National government. The man is a champion. Gold-digger/Take The Money And Run...
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