break ya necks.

February 7, 2010 § 1 Comment

So, most of this blog is a lot of me taking myself too seriously.  I’ll admit, as I have before, that I think too much.  And, honestly, that really comes out of the fact that I, well, care too much.  About everything.  Naturally, much of this self-reflection sets a somber or pensive tone, but I’m hoping to switch the mood around once in a while.

As it turns out, I also care about things apart from the realm of wishing for world peace and ending hunger and finding my life’s purpose.  Like, for example, I care about the way I look.  I care about cardigans, knit scarves, statement rings, black pumps, and skinny jeans.  I love large leather totes with metal hardware and lots of pockets.  I wouldn’t be able to live without leggings, and I am searching for a perfect brown waist-cinching belt.  Most of the blogs I read are lifestyle, glamour, and style lists, and I’m truly looking to become more of an editor of my own closet, rather than just a body following a set of rules — t-shirt + leggings + boots = good to go.  (Don’t get me wrong; that’s definitely part of my ready-to-wear repertoire.)  In any case, I’d like to amp up my editing skills, and I want to use my closet as the palette and myself as the canvas.

I have a few style heroes whose style I’d love to have.  I also admire some of my good friends who, over the years, have found their own signature style, and I love that, within my group of friends, we each have a distinct look about us.  I like to think that I do have my own style, but I have to say — I have been a lazy editor.  I’m hoping to get off my ass and start seeing my every day as art.  In high school and college, I experimented a lot more.  I won some (and definitely lost some), but I always had fun, and I always felt uniquely me.

Despite my intensely held values and all my talk of needing my life to bear meaning, despite everything I’ve said about not being able to live a life of frivolity and care-freedom, I’ll never say it’s not important to indulge in the act of looking good.  I feel good when I look good, and I don’t care if that seems superficial.  There’s something inexplicably empowering about walking in the city, cutting through it with purpose, and looking fucking killer.

I just got really excited.  (Sorry for cursing.)

Anyway, I just wanted to share a little something about my next goal:  Just as I edit these personal writing pieces, just as I work to improve my writing at work, just as I edit my plans for the future, I will become an editor of my own style, and I’m going to rock so many necks come this spring.  Watch out.

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