Love Them or Hate Them: You Decide!

When I see an article of any fashion-related stuff, I either love it, hate it or am indifferent to it. When I saw these "bubble flip-flops" I expected my mind to produce one of those three reactions. But instead, my mind froze--it did not know what to do. That's okay, I told myself. When an initial, gut reaction is seized by a "what-the-heck" moment, the mind needs some time to reflect on its past tastes, its likes and dislikes, its social, intellectual, and artistic implications, and the level of propriety for a 30-year old to be "flip-flopping" around in a perpetual cluster of bubbles.

So, I waited myself out and for the verdict. But even with the relative objectivity of hindsight, I still didn't love them, or hate them. Which is just fine. The problem was, I just could not be indifferent to them.

It's like looking at a good piece of modern art. It refuses to leave you unaffected. But these flip flops are no modern art unless somebody decides to put some toothpicks through the bubbles, sharpie some of them in black, sprinkle some jelly-beans on top and put them in a glass case with a scary-looking security guard yelling at you for being too close.

So, I am torn. Even through the filter of my bias, and sub- and unconscious desires, I've got nothing. Maybe I should stare at them a little longer.

What do you think? Do you like them or hate them? (See, I told you. You cannot possibly be indifferent to them.)

Fashion and school

Today was the second week of class. I dressed up a little more than last week although I didn't wear heels. I haven't dressed up like this for school since my first year at Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising. (Most of you don't know this but once upon a time, I was an aspiring fashion designer.) It's work to have to dress up like this.

Toward the end of my first year at FIDM, I remember feeling so fed up with the commercial, materialistic side of fashion that I decided to go on strike. I stopped wearing make-up, put my hair in a pony-tail, wore jeans, big baggy shirts, and sneakers. I boycotted my own closet. I went to school like this every day among students who patented their looks with a pride of an artist. I was making a statement against excess, materialism, and commercialism. I was embracing my own version of Waldenian transcendentalism in the middle of Los Angeles.

Unfortunately, nobody knew what I was doing. They probably thought the stress and pressure of the business were getting to me as I became increasingly ratty. (I remember a lecturer doing a double take as he passed by me.) Too bad my intentions didn't translate. I left fashion school after that quarter and never looked back.

I am not against looking good but having to dress up to keep up with the Kims, Lees and Parks is not my cup of tea. So, this whole thing about dressing up for school to fit in is going down the drain starting next week. But before this day is over, I must say I am looking pretty dang good right now.