#like i wanted to wear heels for a formal event and i bought a $20 pair and life was good ���

[uncanny-tranny]

Man, part of the reason I never let myself be more gender nonconforming is because I was scared of being Noticed and Talked To about my deviance. Honestly, though, I've been making myself learn that making it a big deal would only call more attention to myself

I totally get the fear, but I don't think it's fair of me to prevent myself from being authentic, and I don't want others to feel how I do. If you've been wanting to expand on your gender nonconformity, please do, it's really, really powerful.

[honeyyu]

Sold | Nct - 002

Summary: Cho Miso lives a difficult life, she works full time jobs to take care of her sick mom. One of those jobs being an secretary to the most rich man of seoul. As she tries to take care of everyhing, she goes looking for her dad who had left them for almost 5 years now. Coming into the life of her dad she was caught up by formal parties and events, her dad finally identifying her as his daughter. And before she could even realize, she was bought by a group powerful rich men who called themselves NCT to be their new secretary.

Masterlist

Genre: Smut (+slight angst?) and a little bit fluff

Warnings: None (only one swear word)

Word count: 2.4K

Notes: This chapter doesn’t contain any smut. I try to make this kinda like a real story that why I don’t go straight into the smut. Im sorry!! I think maybe in 2/3 chapters there will be some. Im just trying to introduce the nct members slowly. I hope this isn’t disappointing :/ Last thing, I think its Kims not Kim’s but Kim’s looks cooler idk why lol

The rest of the work day went by faster then I thought. None of the 3 Kim’s found out about the accident luckily. I did tell Tiffany, one of the personal assistants. She is also the one i’m close friends with, the one who gave the flowers I totally ruined. She could only laugh when I told her,” I already made copies of the most of them. So don’t worry about them finding out. I will email you the copies and you can retype the ones who aren’t there!” I couldn’t tell her how grateful I was. The most I could do for now was give her a big hug.

It was already passed workhours for me but at home I didn’t have access to a laptop or computer so I had to finish everything here. In the email Tiffany send me most of the papers were there, I mean the copies. I went through the now dried papers and got rid of the ones Tifanny copied. Now there were around twenty papers left for me to retype, and copy immediately before something would happen again.

All of the papers were about interviews or letters who needed to be send to other important companies. Before starting I looked at the clock on the wall behind Tiffany’s desk, who was out to get coffee for our bosses. The other two were busy moving from meeting to meeting together with the two other Kim’s.

The time on the clock was 4 pm. My mind wandered off for a second, thinking about what kind of food I should buy for dinner tonight. This job made me earn a fair amount of money. But most of it went to the debts we had to pay. And the hospital bills for my mom. This week she would stay with me until I had enough money to buy the hospital bills again.

“Ah I should really work on those papers.” I snapped myself back to reality upon seeing the papers I had to write before 6 because I would always have dinner at 6 with my mom but I didn’t know if I would make it this time. I was hoping on finishing a little before 6 so I could do some grocery shopping on my way home. As those thoughts ran through my mind I started working.

—

My eyes stayed focused on the screen as I was busy writing the last words of the letter. A loud sigh left my mouth when I grabbed the paper off the desk. Again, it was a letter. “From Mr. Kim To Mr Ch-“ I immediately stopped my sentence seeing the name on the paper. Mr Cho. It could be another man but I couldn’t let this go so easily. Was there an adress on it?

“Yes!” I jumped out of my chair with the paper in my hand. It would be unprofessional to ran out of the building and go to the adress. Not to forget I could lose my job if I did that. Only two papers to finish. With that mindset I typed the last papers in not more than 20 minutes.

My hands moved faster than normal. Computer off, papers in bag, chair under my desk, jacket on and card out. I didn’t have to tell anyone I was going. The 3 Kim’s couldn’t care more and Tifanny plus the other two girls were not at the office anymore.

The elevator was slower than usual. Or it was slower because I was excited to maybe find my dad again after five years. I didn’t really know the reason behind my excitement. He was the one who left us and he’s the source of our problems. Maybe I thought that if I would tell him how everything is with mom and me he would feel quilty and help us. Or maybe I just wanted answers to questions I had since the day he left us. And I knew that a small part of me wanted his money. I was embarrassed that I had these kind of thoughts but the money I wanted wouldn’t be for me, but for my mom. Every day she woke up she would look closer to death. Not that money was gonna fix the fact that she was ill or not but he could at least pay the hospital bills.

While making my way outside I looked up the adress on my phone. I was hoping badly that it wasn’t going to be a long route. My feet already gave up by seeing how long the walk was. At least one hour it said. Well if i walk my own speed it will be around forty minutes but still way too long for me to walk in heels. Only two decisions I could make. One, go home to change shoes, forget about dinner and just walk there or get a taxi. Option two it is then because I really didn’t have the time to walk.

Lucky for me a taxi just pulled to the side to let someone out of the car. Taking my chance I speed walked towards it. I was about to grab the doors handle but another hand reached for it faster. It was a young man. “Excuse me,” He muttered to me.

“Sorry sir, I was about to get into the taxi actually.” I politely said, trying not to make a scene. He blankly looked me in the eyes,” I never take a taxi so it’s really important. Now if you will excuse me, I have more urgent things to do then chit chat.” A breath came out of my mouth, sounding like a scoff. I didn’t mean to do that but he was being selfish. Like I had nothing better to do then talk to him,” Well I have something urgent to do too.” I replied but he already stepped into the vehicle.

“We can share!” He looked at me unamused. It didn’t look like he would consider sharing so I looked around for another orange car. To my suprise he left the door open and shuffled to the left to make space for me. I made a ninety degrees bow to thank him before stepping in. “Thank you. My name is Cho Miso.” I thanked him once again. The reason why I introduced myself was also a question to me. Maybe I was trying to be social. He looked at me once I introduced myself. His lips parted like he wanted to say something but he closed them again and looked outside.

Feeling a little hit awkward I gave the taxi driver the adress by showing letter.” You work there?” He asked me while typing the adress into the device,” Not really. I have to talk to the CEO of the building.” His eyebrows furrowed. That must’ve sounded really weird. “Ah, I mean I have a meeting. I work in that building,” I explained him while pointing to the building right outside the window. He nodded and asked the man next to me where he was heading. “The NCT building.” Both heads of me and the driver turned to stare at him in shock. Did he work there?

“Now you say it. I saw you on the news today! You are Kim Dongyoung!” Kim Dongyoung? Is he one of the CEO’s? Now that the driver said that, he was wearing a very expensive suit I recognized from the other CEO’s I often see in the building. I could never really understand people who paid so much for a pair of cothing but if you have the money I guess.

I missed the reaction of the man next to me but the driver started driving. He probably just nodded or ignored like how he did with me. My eyes somehow stayed glued to him. He had black hair, by what I could see long legs, beautiful brown eyes, nice lips. By the last thought I shook my head and whipped my head away from him. God what has gotten into me.

All I did for the rest of the ride was look outside the window, too embarrassed to even look at him. He also, was staring outside. Slowly the car came to halt. That wasn’t a long ride at all. Expected since its a car of course. I laughed a little by my own thoughts but quickly stopped when I saw Kim Dongyoung looking at me.

“Here is your stop miss.” I opened the door saying thank you at the same time. About to walk away I stopped myself, I have to pay. The device showed the amount of won I had to pay so I gave the man half of the bills I had in my wallet, hoping it was enough because I had to get a ride home too. “Have a nice meeting!” He flashed me a smile. I happily smiled back and pushed the door closed. Fortunately I saved myself some drama for later.

A loud sigh left my mouth as I looked at the big building infront of me. How do I even get in without getting stopped by the security. Taking a big risk I walked in. I was wearing office clothing so that was a good thing but I didn’t have an card to access. How was I gonna do this?

As aspected a muscular man stopped me,” You can’t go in miss” Quick think of something Miso! Thats right, I had the letter that had to be delivered here,” I have a meeting with Mr Cho? The letter with all of the information didn’t arrive in time so I came here personally to explain it.” I explained trying not to stutter too much and stretched out my arm with the paper in it so he could see. His eyes went over the paper. He nodded, believing my lie. Then he stepped backwards for me to enter, at the same time bowing.

I bowed back automatically and made my way to the elevator. It looked similar to the ones we had in our building. Made from glass and the floor of gold making it look chic and luxury. If this was my dads company he was very rich. While waiting for the elevator to arrive I thought about how he would look. What do I say. Should I introduce myself or hug him? Nah, he definitely know its me when he sees me so no need to introduce.

Ding! The elevator behind me made a sound, signaling it was open. I nearly ran into it, eager to meet my dad if this was his building. The glass elevator was filled with people in suit, golden watches and expensive bags. I felt a little out of place but that wasn’t important right now. Not sure what floor I had to stop at I waited till I reached the top of the building. Most of the time the important people like the CEO were on the top floor.

And I was right. When I reached top floor it looked alsmost exactly like the floor I worked at in the 3 Kim’s building. A receptionist, waiting room, conference rooms and the CEO’s office I could see way back behind everything with the name Mr Cho on a again golden name plate attached in the door. After examining I walked up to the girl behind the reception.

“Good evening, I have something to discuss with Mr Cho?” I couldn’t tell her I had a meeting because she could search it up on her computer and I would get send away. “Im sorry miss but Mr Cho is in a meeting at the moment. Would you like to wait?” Oh a meeting? Meeting always take a long time but if I had the luck that it was indeed my dad I was gonna meet then it wouldn’t hurt for me to wait a little while. “Yes I will wait, thank you.” With that I walked up to the seats where you were supposed to wait.

—

I’ve been here, waiting, for almost thirty minutes now and I was losing my patient. I was even so close to losing it that I wanted to walk into that conference room and yell at him for being so slow. Of course I couldn’t do that so my only option was waiting.

Tired of sitting in a chair for the whole time, I got up to get something to drink. When I arrived here I saw a water tap almost next to the CEO’s office.

Filling my cup, I looked around once again. The office walls of Mr Cho were from glass making it easy for me to take a glance of it. There wasn’t much interesting though. His desk was placed by the wall on the left. Infront of the desk a couple couches with a coffee table in the middle. Just like regular CEO offices that I’ve seen in my life.

But something catched my eye. There were three framed pictures on his desk, facing the couches. I couldn’t see them clearly so I walked a couple steps closer to the office.

The cup almost fell out of my hand. It was my dad on the pictures but not only him. Next to him there was a woman, around my moms age maybe younger and two kids, one boy and one girl who looked atleast five years younger than me. This was his new family. Otherwise he wouldn’t have three pictures with them on his desk.

I couldn’t accept the fact that he moved on from his first family. Harshly I threw the cup of water into the garbage can nearby me and I left the building with my hands clenced into a fist. Tears threatened to fall but he wasn’t worth it. He was living a perfect life with a perfect new family and money enough to take care of thousands people like my mom and me. He was so fucking selfish!

I took a taxi back to my house. The whole ride I looked outside the window with a furious expression. Probably making the driver uncomfortable because he turned up the radio so it wouldn’t be all silence. Arriving at the house I gave him the rest of the money I had in my wallet and he drove off after.

Grabbing my keys to enter the house my phone rang. The number on the screen didn’t ring any bell but I still anwered thinking that it maybe was someone from work who needed me.“Hello?” I asked into the phone, waiting for an answer on the other side.

“I heard you’ve been looking for me.”

<- Previous | Next ->

[victorianwestpiano]

Happy Birthday Colette! Headcanon:

I know I’m way to late to dedicate a birthday present to Eva Green since her birthday was on July 6th, last week. But still, I would’ve felt really bad if I did not make this present at all, even if it’s a days late.

So for my next headcanon here’s a mini fic for one of her fictional characters, Colette Marchant, celebrating the first minutes of her birthday:

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Dreamland, July 1920, Colette’s appartment, 11:20 pm:

The night felt dense at Dreamland, because it was the middle of July and the summer became strong and all the employees were exhausted due to the heat. Even at night it was heavy.

Colette Marchant, The Queen of Heavens, was sitting in front of her makeup desk looking at herself in the mirror. She was wearing of of her most elegant gowns, her makeup still on her face and the only lights around her were of the lamps on her livingroom which were iluminating very weakly. And also the electrical lights from outside created a fusion of colors on the floor of her appartment.

Colette took off her high heels shoes and brought her feet to stand on the chair, she hugged her knees and sighed and covered her face with her hand. It has been months since she has been training with Dumbo, it was more exhausting than she expected, but thankfully, she had fun doing it.

“Mhhhm, is 11:21 pm now, huh?” the french woman checked her clock which was on the desk. “Just few more minutes...” she said desinterested.

Colette had always enjoyed celebrating her birthday, since she was a girl she loved to be the center of attention at that very special day.

But now.... mon dieu, she personally thought, things had changed so much. She has everything that she could ever wanted, her spotlight on the trapeze, money, dresses, being a celebrity, everyone dying of envy for her talent. However, why all those things seemed so useless right now? How having all the fame in the world isn’t enough? Colette felt more empty than ever, even her own birthday felt meaningless...but why?

--------------------------------------

The training tent:

“Well kids, time to go to bed!” Holt ordered to Milly and Joe.

“Uhhh dad,” Joe protested “just a few more minutes please!”

Holt sighed “No Joe is almost 12 o’clock I ain’t give you the pleasure this time” then he turned his head over his daughter. “Go with him Milly please. I’ll put Dumbo on his corral”

“Ok dad, come on Joe.” the girl grabbed his brother by the hand.

“You too Milly!?” Joe exhaled doing force backwards from his sister’s grip.

“Come on Joe, I know you like to stay awake until very late so when you fall asleep they have to carry you to your bed.” the girl accused with her eyes.

Joe shrunk his shoulders and blushed looking at his circus family. He decided to give up and follow her to their appartment at the Dreamland.

The rest of the circus troupe laughed at the little scene and went to their own rooms to sleep as well. Holt, who just entered Dumbo on his resting place, closed the elephant’s corral and said goodbye to Max.

“Goodnight, Max” he waved at his friend and formal boss “I can’t believe we stayed to late today.”

“Yeah you’re right, but it ain’t 12 o’clock yet, just 30 minutes more and we could’ve had the record!” the old ringmaster joked at the cowboy.

“Yeah” Holt laughed. Suddenly something in his mind made him realize a thing he almost forgot. So he called Max again and asked. “Max, wait! You said 30 more minutes to 12?”

“Well...” the ringmaster ckecked his wrist watch. “Now 27. But why? What do you have to do so late at night?” he asked.

I have only 27 minutes left, Holt thought. “Uhmm nothing Max, just wanted to know. Goodnight.” the cowboy responded a bit nervous.

“Ok...goodnight” with that the ringmaster left Holt alone a little suspicious but he he did not asked more, he was super tired to keep talking.

Holt looked at the wall clock, sighed a tiny laugh and rushed outside with excitement.

-----------------------------------

At Colette Marchant’s appartment, the french aerialist was finishing to get ready for bed; she slowly walked downstairs to her livingroom and turned off the lamps little by little. She stoped what she was doing when when her wall clock rang. It was 12 o’clock of the night, her birthday had just started. Which made Colette exhaled a sarcastic smirk to herself. All of the sudden the woman heard a knock on her door.

“Oui? Who is it?” she asked but no one answered. Then the door was knocked again.

Colette sighed and headed to the door, she tied up the black robe and unlocked the latch. She slowly opened the entrance.

“If this is a joke is not funny---”

The woman was interrupted when, out of nowhere, a plate with a piece of chocolate cake with a burning candle on top popped in front of her face. The plate was held by one hand which started gently to turn, to show who was holding it. And in front of the entrance, Colette reccognised the man.

It was Holt.

“Holt...?” Colette was dumbfounded, she couldn’t believe what she was looking at.

The cowboy’s face was iluminated by the little flame of the candle, his smile couldn’t be any bigger and his happiness of what he was doing was practically contagious. After seeing Colette’s face clearly he began to approach her and then... he started to sing.

“Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you...” the french lady began to smile and walked backwards to give her friend space to enter her house while she was hearing him sing.

“...Happy Birthday... Colette Marchant.” Holt tried his best to tune and harmonize well her entire name but he failed a bit. Which made the lady laugh.

“Happy Birthday...to you” the rider finished and both adults connected their glances. Holt talked again, “Happy birthday, Colette.” he said with joy.

“Oh Holt, I just can’t believe this” the aerialist was still taken aback with emotion.

“Well, if I were you I believe it quickly ‘cause the candle will burn the cake very soon.” he joked to her, “Make a wish, princess”. he handed the cake to his friend.

“Tres bién” she said grabbing the plate “Let me think...” Colette closed her eyes like a child, thinking of her wish. “I got it.” she opened her eyes again and blowed the candle. Then she look at the rider’s happy expression.

“I would clap for ya, but...” Holt bowed his head.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh! I’ve brought you somethin’ else. Wait here.”  Holt headed back to the entrance and knelt on the floor on the other side of the door. When he stood up and returned to Colette’s side, he had a tiny bouquette of lily flowers in his hand. “I hope you like these, I didn’t know what kind you like the most.”

“You braught me flowers too, ma cherie?” the aerialist beamed. 

“Why of course! Did you think my only present for ya would be hearin’ me detune?” he joked. “And I’m sorry if this is not one of those big fancy bouquetes, I really wanted to impress you. But this was all I could afford and I had little time.”

“I don’t care Holt,” Colette received the lilys and smelled them with pleasure “These are magnifique. Mercie beaucoup.” she thanked him with a tender grin.

Holt blushed “You’re welcome, is the least I could do. I wish to you a very happy birthday, a year full of joy”

“I hope so...” Colette muttered.

“What?” Holt asked.

“Nothing. I’ll bring some forks, I’m not going to eat this all by myself!” Colette teased and put the flowers on a vase and headed to the kitchen.

----------------------------------

Some minutes later, Holt and Colette were sitting on a couch, sharing the cake together.

“Mhhmm, this tastes delicious! Where did you get it?” the woman asked tasting the chocolate on her mouth.

“Dreamland’s caffeteria” the cowboy responded with same delight chewing  the treat. “I’ve bought it at afternoon hours ago, so I don’t forget.”

“Ah! So you have all this planned since the beggining, uh?” she stated interested.

“You can say that, although I was lucky Joe didn’t find it or else there wouldn’t be cake at all.” Holt teased winking at her.

“Oh Holt,” Colette laughed, “You managed to make me laugh, merci. The first minutes of my birthday and look with whom am I.”

“Crazy, huh?” Holt laughed with her, but then he talked again with a curious glance. “I don’t wanna to bother you, but knowin’ you, I thought you would be more excited for this day. Are you ok? There’s somethin’ wrong?”.

Colette lifted her head and looked at her friend’s eyes. She layed her fork on the plate and placed it on a table near by. “You know me very well, cherie. I cannot hide anything from you.” she sighed

“I knew it. Please tell me.” the cowboy placed his own fork on the plate “There’s somethin’...or somone bothering you?” he asked concerned and serious.

“No one is bothering me, it’s moi. Just moi.”

“How?”

“You know Holt... I’ve always loved celebrating my birthday, it was for me one of the best days of my life each year. But this last years... everything had been so... monotone.”

“I understand.” Holt nodded.

“I know it sounds childish but since I moved here at Dreamland, each birthday party I had was with high society snobs in those fancy and empty events, people who are not my friends, people I don’t know...” Colette bit her lip. “Now, this day turned out to be just another ordinary day for me, nothing special.”

“Don’t say that, it is a very special day.” Holt comforted her “It’s just you hadn’t had anyone to celebrate it.”

Colette gave him a small smile but made it disappear quickly.

Holt smiled back with empathy. he grabbed the lady’s hand continued “Although, you do now.” 

Colette glanced over him again with a bit of amusement, the cowboy squeezed tenderly her hand.

“Look princess, I’ll do anythin’ to make the day you were born special to you again, even though, “ Holt looked at the tiny bouquete of flowers and then at the half-eaten cake “this is all I can offer, is not much I know.”

“Holt, this is the most tender and sincere gesture anyone have ever did for my birthday. I love it!” the woman’s eyes felt a little watery due to the emotion.

“You’re serious?” Holt exclaimed with a grin.

“Oui, mon cherie” she squeezed back he friend’s hand, a teardrop fell from her cheek.

“Don’t cry princess” Holt wipped gently the tear ”Hey how about this? What if we make a party for you with my circus troupe, my kids and Dumbo as well? Would you like that?”

The Queen of Heavens’ heart skipped a bit, she covered and giggled like a girl. “You are offering me a party with your family, cherie?”

“My family it’s your family, princess. You’re already part of it.”

Not surprising at all, Colette’s tears fell with more strength. Mon dieu, when will be the day when I’ll tell this goof what I really feel for him!? she thought. She inhaled deeply and dryed her face with her sleeve.

Holt also felt emotional by looking at his friend, Damn, she even looks beautiful when she cries, the rider thought for himself, C’mon you idiot! Tell her what you feel!. “Colette.... “

“Oui Holt?”

“.....did you liked the idea then?” *you’re a stupid coward* Holt’s mind told him, kicking him inside. 

“Of course I like it” Colette beamed at him “And... speaking of birthday celebrations... how is it for you celebrating yours?” the aerialist asked with playful curiousity, “Tell me, and oh please, do not miss any deatail!” she leaned her right elbow on the couch’s back and rested her head on her right hand.

“Well...” Holt inhaled and rested his back on the couch’s back side “honestly, I have the same problem like yours, but in reverse.”

“In reverse?”

“Yeah, ‘cause now, as an adult, I enjoy it.... but as a boy, I hated it.”

“As a child you hated your own birthday!?” Colette questioned shocked at the rider’s statement.

Holt shrugged on his seat, “The thing is princess, now, that I have a family, that I have children, everything changed for me. You start to see things different and you start to appreciate stuff you didn’t appreciate before.” Holt said looking fondly at the french woman, “Now that I have Milly and Joe, and at the time, Annie, may she rest in peace. My birthday have more meaning for me.”

“I understand, mon amie.” Colette nodded in comprehension.”But what I do not understand, is why as a garçon, a kid, you hated your birthday. All the kids loves those days.”

The Stallion Star sighed “Because the day I was born... was also the day... my mom died, when she gave birth to me.” his throat felt a little tight.

“Oh cherie....” Colette said with empathy, caressing her friend’s shoulder.

“That’s why as a boy, my anniversry was a constant reminder that my mom gave her life for me and she’s no longer with us, or with me...”

“I know what are you feeling Holt, but somehow, your mum lives in your heart  and  as you said before, you’re not alone.” Colette assured him with a soft look.

Holt smiled at her again and placed his hand on top of hers that was on his shoulder. “I think princess, as we mature, is natural we don’t get too excited for our birthdays as we used to.” he explained staring at her hand.

“You are right on that.” Colette agreed. “We are in our fourties, can you believe it?” she stated with an amused tone, looking at the ceiling.

“Yep” Holt widened his eyes.

Colette lowered her face from the ceiling to glance over the rider once more, “We are getting old, right cherie?” she questioned out loud tired.

Holt turned his head to see her directly and gave her a sympathetic expression, “Yeah...yeah you’re”.

With that Colette turned her own head to face him with a gasp, shocked eyes and moth full open at such answer. 

Holt covered his mouth with his only hand and started to giggle like a kid. Not expecting once he looked at her beautiful blue eyes again, she smacked him with a portion of chocolate frosting from the cake leftouts at his face.

“You idiot! Imbecile!” Colette protested like a teenager.

Once Holt received her sweet revenge he stayed mute, trying to wip away the frosting of his eyes. “Ok... I deserved that”

“Of course you desverved it!” Colette grumbled.

“I’m sorry...” the rider apologized.

“On how ridiculous you look right now, I think is fair to forgive you. We are even.” Colette said with a teasing smile.

Holt’s hand slid to the table, “I’m sorry for what I told you...” and all of the sudden, he dipped his fingers on the frosting on the plate as well and wipped it on Colette’s nose, surprising her. “...and for this.”

The lady flinched at the harmless attack and gave him an annoyed glare at her friend.

“Now we’re even princess.” Holt said with pride.

Colette rolled her eyes and cleaned her nose, but after a few seconds, both adults bursted into laughter admiting how funny the other looked covered in chocolate.

---------------------

The End.

[tedfashionski]

Reality Patch

 (3393 - long read, messy, technically ‘unfinished’ whatever that means)

There was a little bubble of interest in the Miu Miu pre-fall collection in the twitterverse a few weeks (months? years?) back – it seemed torn out of time. Made in the winter, shown to press in January? Viral in the early summer? To be bought..… sometime? Part of the issue is the term ‘pre-fall’. Pretty certain that’s summer. This collection feels like it doesn’t exist. I guess if I ever went shopping, it would make more sense? But as a broke hut-dwelling internet denizen, I’m lost. It’s this money-spinning side to fashion commerce that’s the ‘real’ collection, but it’s named after a non-existent season. The pre-fall/resort problem lies in that it’s the collection that gets the least press, because not normally presented in a show, but also functions more solidly as merchandise. Certain agitators want to eliminate these non-events, and revert to twice-yearly seasons. It’s a fucking mess. What even is this?  The fashion calender is broken and illogical. I’m going to write here about the Marni AW 20 ‘Alice in Wonderland’ collection alongside Moocher’s pre-fall thing, because I’ve got queries about patchwork and they play well together.

 I have …complicated… feelings about the patchwork. We’re probably going to see more and more of it and I’m not sure we’re asking the right questions of it. How do we avoid it becoming just ‘aesthetic’ (in pop speak = empty), rather than a manner of process that informs continual work going forward and results in an un-replicable feeling, a new angle on reality (an….. aesthetic). How to stop it becoming something we all get bored of? Because, the only guarantee in fashion is boredom.

 Patchwork collage

 Miu was a solid offering – it maintains a certain quality, obvs – and is good in its own way according to its own logic as Miuccia’s offerings usually are. A vision of commerce, yes, but also a kaleidoscopic frozen moment of girlhood that wants to aid us in our navigation from then to there, the ‘there’ being an upcoming un-season (A/W/S/S?) and maybe a sense of maturity. Now, there’s no point in me complaining about low quality info from the establishment on their dealings then failing to engage thoroughly with work when it is delivered in detail on multiple fronts (written aspect, full campaign, video that I can’t find anymore but remember seeing unless it was a hallucination, and look book – many angles).

 Embellished bodices/check check/white fuzzy tights/nice shiny heels/19th c take on afghan jacket very good/prairie psycho/much boring merch – (awkward stances suggest candid, ambivalent)

   Miu look book Collage

Our press release ponders:

 ‘When was the last occasion you lived in an enclosed world, where time stretched out, seemingly endlessly, in front of you? When was the last time your interior world felt as important as the exterior one, where you were free to imagine and to contemplate who you might actually want to be? Chances are it was when you were a teenager, with all of the triumphs and trepidations that entailed, particularly if you were a teenage girl.’

 Well, it sure sounds like it sucks to be a real adult who gave up on their dreams. When was the last time I felt free in my internal playground? Every day of my life, bitches. I’m your anomaly, Prada copy-writer. But, point taken. Work sucks when you’re doing it for other people, and we’ve all had times when you feel caught and pinched and empty in our creative attempts. And now, we’ve all been grounded by our stupid parents for the last few months. Stuck in our rooms. Some by choice, some not. And if we’re allowed out right now, the second spike is coming and we’re all depressed about the limits we have to live under in order to reduce advancing death.

 ‘A dream-like, interior world is conjured through Douglas Irvine’s photography to match the external, magical manifestation on display in the clothing. A blur of florals and glittering visual embellishment, diaphanous drape and ecstatic movement belie the strict foundations for both the images and garments.’

 campaign collage

  So far, so wordy and detailed. A world is glimpsed. One with blurs but strict foundations. A real world made hazy. We have classic codes walking in a trepidatious vein. Miu Miu girl is testing out the limits of her horizons, playing with her identity through her clothes and thinking to herself, how much do I want to give away? What will I keep? But the text continues:

 ‘Wearing a clothing collection that splices the utilitarian with the formal, the everyday with the extravagant, delicate artisanal embellishment is contrasted with and applied to a notion of the sturdily homespun. Here, nineteenth century literary heroines, both fictional and actual, are channelled, the sources of teenage-girl bedroom revolutions in both style and substance, yet worn by a new generation of everyday heroines with all of their contrasting clothing choices.’

 We lose track here. Not sure this collection actually feels ‘artisanal’ or ‘sturdily homespun’. there’s the late 20-teens pop refrain of dark psychedelia’s fixation on moth-eaten fin de siècle grandness, the upending of 19th C avant-garde in the counter-culture’s looping democratisation. We have an eclecticism, a thriftiness, a carelessness with the past symptomatic of isolated children playing with a mish-mash of pieces born of hemmed-in theatrics.

 3 MIU PICS

 MORE – CAMPAIGN/POSES/FACES/DESCRIBE CLOTHES – here comes what night?. Colour, focus. Don’t really like the clothes, wouldn’t wear any of this tbh.

 CAMPAIGN PICS coll

  As for Marni’s Alice in Wonderland, I have languishing notes which seem as old and tired as the idea of 2019. I was practising twitter threadiness, and got as far as notes on Milan before the covid freeze set in my mind. I like mixed responses, it’s the only thing that feels fair, but with those Milan collections I couldn’t achieve any sort of resolution or clear point. I didn’t know how I felt anymore. I’m unresolved in how I feel about criticism. It should be functional, but not necessarily constructive, if I feel the need to tear something down, as a critic that is within my job description. I’ll write a proper bit on the perils of fashion criticism from a distance, but in short I feel that it’s unfair to criticise a designer’s work from afar, especially negatively, but that until the fashion community realises the value of a public culture of critique (criticism being the only process by which you can hope to form an art system), real critics engaged with honestly parsing the strengths and weaknesses of fashion practice in service of public health will have to criticise from afar. This will impact the quality of the work, but it is hoped the audience can accept the pinch of salt required of virtual critique of a virtual fashion experience. The subject of the criticism here isn’t the clothes. I’m not asking questions of fit, of quality, I’m asking whether this is good fashion communication, as a time-dependent media phenomenon.  And, yes, I know I’m late on this one. Temporal fashion stress must take a rain check at present.

 Marni –

“collaged from the beginning to the end—from macro to micro to fractal. It’s about putting together remnants.”

 cut velvet woven by hand in a factory in Venice on looms that were originally designed by Leonardo da Vinci—a vanishing, time-consuming craft that Risso understandably wants to “protect and exalt.”

 “Are we in a psychedelic world and we need to be more grounded, or are we in a caged world and we need to be freed by psychedelia?”

  THREE MARNI

 risso Quotes:

“Finding beauty in the leftovers,”

“There’s a beauty in the past. I was kind of upset lately, thinking about people on their phones -- what about these objects that take hours to make, like these Venetian tapestries?”.                          mosaic of the remnants.

new, conceptual territory,

remnants of the previous collections

“It’s a celebration of DIY, Alice in Wonderland, and it’s about her spirit, her searching and questioning,”

the Cheshire Cat’s “We’re all mad here” mantra, as he talked about mandalas and allowing time for ideas to grow.

“Her spirit is within each creature, always wondering and questioning,”

“Making this collection has been the strangest mystery,” he confided. “It’s almost as if it regenerated itself – recreated itself – like an insatiable mosaic.”

 THREE MARNI

  At their best they’re the insatiable fractal mosaic he speaks of – something that situates you betwixt density and freedom. Was patchy – moments of clarity, moments of aimlesslness.. Appreciate the fashion-as-curious-adventure methodology. Ties and openness and rotation were true to Marni.. Materials – twisted tradition meeting rational plain cottons hit the mark. Gold rings, like they’ve melted through from another dimension. They were scattered over the body, but I was left wanting to know more of this motif – what if it become structural, like a portal to another plane? Patchwork that doesn’t feel done in good faith. Like a trick. None of these shapes are done in the spirit of patchwork, like the wrong kind of luxury. Too much care is given to appearing careless, but a reach for dizzying angles in effect sidelines affect – it feels tidily resolved, and then mussed around at the end. I’m probably wrong on many fronts about the reality of their process. But what I’m feeling right now is that if all you’re aiming for is the ‘look’ of patched pieces rather that the ‘ethic’ or process of thrift, then you’ll just get trapped in an endless empty labyrinth of false choices. It’s not about the look, it’s about shiftinG your total parameters of design decision making going forward. Additive.

  I’m still figuring out how I feel about this. Both these collections suffer from a neat, pat resolution of the question of the deadstock aesthetic that avoids the hard work of engaging with the limitations of that mode of work. Where is the tension? Where is the sacrifice? The loss of freedom in thrift must be acknowledged. If you’re telling me a story about a lost girl in a crazy world that makes no sense, why do her questions of her physical environment feel so impersonal? Many designers are going to turn to patchworking, out of both necessity and fashion gameplaying. Each designer is going have to work their way to an individual conversation with the difficult questions of recycling while avoiding the traps of the easy way out. Both teams failed at this test, in these collections. Sustainability isn’t easy, or anywhere close to being properly engaged with by our establishment figures. (Viktor & Rolf are a good example of recycling feeling right and thought about and cared for).

 Viktor&Rolf samples

  I’m reading Lolita at the moment. (CAN YOU TELL?)  I’m not a good reader. (CAN YOU TELL?)  A.D.D., I guess. I get bored and drift off to fantasyland. But here’s a stab at some fancypants analysis: The far-off subject, Lolita herself, is overlooked by the narrator’s masturbatory myopia. Her exploration of her own girlhood/womanhood is reduced and flattened by her abuser who needs her to be something else, something thing-y. A two-dimensional being. The tension between predation and autonomy, her wounded rebellion and navigation of self are so distant in the book you can’t help but want to reach out to her, through her abuser’s hideous twisted lens. Humbert’s POV colours everything, Lolita isn’t permitted her own take, everything she does is ridiculous and gazed down upon, he feels he’s permitted to just take her, to prioritise his own long-abated lust without thought of the consequences to her sense of self.

 This vibe I’m analysing here, the bruised and fuzzy self-discovery of Miu Miu and the lost-play of Marni, kind of feels like it hasn’t really shrugged off the top-down, hidden, extractive gaze of the cornered, self-pitying male power player. Maybe the viewer is Humbert. Maybe I’m Humbert. Maybe you’re Lolita. Maybe vice versa. But he’s there, in the corner, or taking the picture. Someone’s always taking it in, and jealously building a crypto-fantasy version of the girl, even as our self-birthing adolescent is feeling towards a way to fight it off.

 campaign

 Spring 2020 was a fucking twisted, disorienting, stretched moment. Tough times for fashion practitioners, not just in terms of lost profits or mob moralising (pppeoppllle arree dyyinnnngggg howww daree you talkkkk aboutttt fashioonnnn) but in the nuts and bolts of fashion practice – if the role of the fashion designer is to collaborate with their wearers in plotting a path to the future, when a world-re-orienting catastrophe occurs, it rapidly recontextualises their attempts at constructing a scaffold around the unknown. The idea that the future can be planned for and known through schedules and aesthetic anticipation gets rumbled. The foundation of that building site got a bit cracked during this Spring’s quake. Mapped onto ongoing structural issues in, what I guess in this analogy is a renovation of our historic temporal orientation casino, basically fashion collapsed in its usual confidence along with the economy (economics being fashion with numbers and no fun so it’s respectably masc. vom). Who knows who’s going to go out of business. There may not be a Miu Miu or a Marni or whoever in the future. Names we take for granted are just going to die. That’s a loss for the art aspect. Cus these guys are creative, mad geniuses who deserve a healthy context for their vision. (OTOH: die, fashion industry, die! I dance in the glow of the flames of your destruction with gleeee). These two collections actually speak to me across the span of the last six months, which takes some doing. They succeeded in the criteria that we should actually apply to fashion practice: satnav for the social soul. As sense of protection from the twists of time. A hand to hold. Someone to talk to. And time is super twisty rn. Good job holding on as we fall through the looking glass, random Italians! Now, to work.

 COLLAGE

 Colours – piecework – slippery glistening rainbow lensflares – Marni, FR places himself as an agent of chaos, someone with a hidden explanation refusing to submit to logic and set ways, a spanner in the works of Alice’s complacency.

 Patchwork, rhizomatic? (????, what is that. Idk, just sounds funnnn), no beginning and end, things relating to one another in disjointed, flexible ways. FR gives is little hints at the instability that patching offers, the early looks in Miu are far too comfortable. In the cut, sheets are formed out of set shapes – traditional, in the spirit of that half-remembered literary heroine – but neat, very very neat. Happy patchwork . Not patchwork that’ll prompt you to any alternative engagement with your world. FR is poking holes, even burning them out with molten gold, playing with the limits of ‘traditional’ or easily molded pieces. There’s skirts that feature block pieces - an armhole, a curve that any dressmaker will recognise, but set elsewhere, surrounded by other pieces so that the shaping becomes as redundant as Alice’s desperate attempts to right her upside down world. That ordered, shaping impulse is pawed at in the Marni work, but indulged in by Miu Miu. Our Miu Miu heroine feels more like an only slightly misunderstood brat, but Marni’s Alice is strung out and barely even human anymore. I’m disappointed in both approaches, but Marni, as the radically abstract collection that’s pushing concept on us, is the one that actually fails in its aims. Mrs Prada & Co are aware of the limits of commercial offerings. They’re happy to speak when permitted, in the lulls between commerce. It’s pragmatic and unadventurous, romantic within set bounds. It’s a walk in the park, where Marni is a clumsy trip through an open manhole cover.

 COLLAGE

 I said at the beginning of this that if we’re only going to see more patchwork as a process we actually have to grapple with it, and there’s a risk at this point in fashion that the fashion people (c’est moi aussi, mfs) are going to go ‘oh, been there, done that, on to the next thing’ without ever actually engaging with it as a means of creating fashion. What does (BRANDNAME) recycling look like, what makes it (BRANDNAME) in a way that become part of a lexicon long term rather than another sticky-plaster? Patchworking is many things, but what are its fundamentals? It’s a way of forming textile surfaces that accepts that which is available. It’s humble and more concerned with ethics than end result. The small squares/triangles in traditional American quilting are ways to systematically optimise waste pieces and merge them with other pieces. This in its own turn creates more micro-waste, perhaps to be used as stuffing, but forcing scraps into legible grids is very strict and imperial, the grid being an easy way of organising a surface from above. Grids and precise geometries are more like things overlaid, not bubbling up from beneath. They’re simple and readily comprehensible. There’s other forms of merging irregular pieces: think of rag-rug like textiles, crocheting with strips, or applique. Certain aesthetic choices can be made when you’re actually working with the idea of recycling waste material, rather than looking for an end-result before you even started. A cut piece has an end but with patchwork it can become endless. There’s kind of something anti-hierarchical about it. Waste pieces formed out of negative space can relate to each other not in the sense of ‘this looks pretty’ but more in the sense of ‘spontaneity rules’.

 I’m realllly self-consciousness about existing in the purgatory between between fashion and theory. Theory thinking of itself as ‘too serious’ for fashion and fashion of itself ‘too fun’ for complex discussion (sidebar: can we stop talking about showstudio as if it is in any way innovative? I can’t watch those videos. I have classic fashion goldfishitis. Where is my colour and jazziness and silly nonsense. Why tf do fashion people think ‘oh, critique! must be unfashion. Must sit in room being boring with no cuts or editing. Here, watch a fucking zoom call, fuck your need for beauty.’ The motherfuckers are working against us. Hate, Hate, Hate, you fucking jerks). So, my difficulty lies in how to dodge the hierarchical perception of theorising, people assuming you’re talking down rather than across, when they’re often dyslexic or disinterested in this kind of stuff because they’ve been taught to think it’s ‘beyond’ them or it’s just some bullshit they’ve found boring/embarrassing/trauamatizing. There’s nothing wrong with finding something boring when it’s engaging in elitist and hierarchical perceptions of ‘intellctualismsm’ or ‘quality’. There’s so much work to do, so much rubble to excavate. I’m not writing about Deleuze & Guattari’s analyses of patchwork for a reason here: I haven’t read them. I attempted A Thousand Plateaus in undergrad, gave up, and since then have really struggled with this feeling of being caught between modes of being - visual/verbal/temporal. Fashion zonked, theory enraged. I have a deep respect for the communicative power of dress and fashion media, paired with immense frustration at the slight engagement with complexity in the culture. Theorizing can be colourful, can be fun, can be bright. Fashion doesn’t need to abandon these wonderful things in order to have some self-respect. In fact, its self-respect will only be assured when it learns to push forward towards aggravating, complex dialectics in its own styles of discourse that fashion people actually want to engage with. I expect at some point within the next decade I’ll find a way to develop my self-confidence in reading beyond wikipedia and want to return properly to the topic of quilting and patchwork in relation to rhizomes and abstract post-structural philosophy, but I’m not there yet. Maybe there’s nothing there in D&G, just hot air, or maybe fashion isn’t worthy of theorising. Both suck in various ways. I’m not confident enough in the theory realm to interact with any self-assurance in a way that computes in both worlds. I’m only just learning to piece myself back together after trying to work within fashion’s established methods and failing. I’m here slowly feeling my way towards engaging properly as a dedicated reader and a dedicated fashion practitioner. But the responsibility to push forward and make fashion practice sufficiently rigorous, self-reflexive, critical and engaged with other fields while playing to its own strengths as discipline that actually brings something to the table, without the solidarity of peers engaged in the same questions, it gets a bit disorienting sometimes.

[theoriginalspike]

for the weird ask thingy how about 1-98? so yes all of them please!

I’m gonna put this under a read more so that it’s not insanely long but thank you for allowing me to overshare because that’s literally all i want in life

1. coffee mugs, teacups, wine glasses, water bottles, or soda cans?

coffee mugs, if i see one that i like, i usually buy it or think about it for a really long time. 

2. chocolate bars or lollipops?

lollipops

3. bubblegum or cotton candy?

cotton candy, i can’t stand the smell or taste of bubblegum

4. how did your elementary school teachers describe you?

on most of my report cards i was a pleasure to have in class but has trouble actually turning in homework

5. do you prefer to drink soda from soda cans, soda bottles, plastic cups or glass cups?

either soda bottles or glass cups

6. pastel, boho, tomboy, preppy, goth, grunge, formal or sportswear?

i love the aesthetic of formal but i prefer boho/preppy 

7. earbuds or headphones?

earbuds, headphones squish my head

8. movies or tv shows?

movies 

9. favorite smell in the summer?

honeysuckle

10. game you were best at in p.e.?

being goalie for handball

11. what you have for breakfast on an average day?

peanut butter crunch clif bar

12. name of your favorite playlist?

summertime

13. lanyard or key ring?

keyring

14. favorite non-chocolate candy?

watermelon jolly ranchers

15. favorite book you read as a school assignment?

fahrenheit 451

16. most comfortable position to sit in?

cross legged or leaning to the side with both feet tucked up next to me (only in a chair/on the couch though)

17. most frequently worn pair of shoes?

either birkenstocks or my bean boots

18. ideal weather?

slightly cloudy, breezy, and between 60 and 75 with a dew point under 55

19. sleeping position?

any position but on my back

20. preferred place to write (i.e., in a note book, on your laptop, sketchpad, post-it notes, etc.)?

i like a notebook, my fingers try to type too fast for my brain so i make a lot of mistakes and i need lines otherwise it slants all over the page

21. obsession from childhood?

i used to collect guitar picks. i have too many

22. role model?

my friend kelsey. she never let anyone’s opinions of her shape who she was. she did what she wanted and was such a free spirit. 

23. strange habits?

left goes first. if it’s makeup, my left eyebrow, lashes, contour, blush, anything goes first. left shoe goes on first, left pant leg, left shirt/jacket sleeve. left first or it feels wrong. 

24. favorite crystal?

i love amethyst because it’s purple.

25. first song you remember hearing?

probably american pie by don mclean.

26. favorite activity to do in warm weather?

swimming

27. favorite activity to do in cold weather?

honestly stargazing. getting all bundled up and lying in a bunch of blankets is great. there no humidity to make the stars hazy and on a really clear night it’s beautiful.

28. five songs to describe you?

perfect - anne marie, devil’s in the canyon - the strike, orpheus - sara bareilles, rainbow - kacey musgraves, vienna - billy joel

29. best way to bond with you?

talk to me about music, animals, what you find beautiful or peaceful.

30. places that you find sacred?

any mountain top, the chapel in the pines at camp, fields of wildflowers, any waterfall.

31. what outfit do you wear to kick ass and take names?

my black dress with big red roses and my black and white stripe heels with roses. 

32. top five favorite vines?

oh shit the tampons one, the no yelling sock, the souls of the innocent, bagel boys, that was majestic

33. most used phrase in your phone?

i have wtf set to automatically replace with what the fuck and i probably use that daily

34. advertisements you have stuck in your head?

i always have the cropp metcalfe jingle stuck in my head

35. average time you fall asleep?

on a work night usually between 10:30 and 11:30 but weekends its closer to midnight

36. what is the first meme you remember ever seeing?

probably those creepy u mad? and sad face drawings.

37. suitcase or duffel bag?

i prefer a suitcase but not a huge one

38. lemonade or tea?

it has to be sweet tea if it’s iced

39. lemon cake or lemon meringue pie?

lemon cake. lemon meringue pie is never the right sweet/tart ratio

40. weirdest thing to ever happen at your school?

my senior yaer they locked the boys and girls bathrooms in the science wing because the boys were setting off axe bombs and the girls were smoking cigarettes

41. last person you texted?

my friend corinne

42. jacket pockets or pants pockets?

yes

43. hoodie, leather jacket, cardigan, jean jacket or bomber jacket?

yes

44. favorite scent for soap?

citrus. it just smells cleaner

45. which genre: sci-fi, fantasy or superhero?

i’m a sucker for fantasy

46. most comfortable outfit to sleep in?

i have a couple of dresses that are stretchy but too short to be acceptable (imo) for public wear

47. favorite type of cheese?

i love mozarella

48. if you were a fruit, what kind would you be?

i’d be a peach

49. what saying or quote do you live by?

it’s chaos, be kind

50. what made you laugh the hardest you ever have?

probably just weird shit from camp

51. current stresses?

mmmmmm job hunting, packing for camp, cleaning

52. favorite font?

i can’t remember the font name but it’s like old typewriter letters

53. what is the current state of your hands?

i need to paint my nails and cut them

54. what did you learn from your first job?

that people are really fucking dumb and don’t read the fine print on their coupons

55. favorite fairy tale?

the princess and the pea

56. favorite tradition?

we always do a big pancake dinner on mardi gras

57. the three biggest struggles you’ve overcome?

dealing with my hair’s natural curl pattern, and i’m gonna have to get back to you on the other two

58. four talents you’re proud of having?

i can braid hair really well, i can cook without a recipe, i made the highest swim level as a camper in 6 weeks my last year as a camper, i’m really good at cat’s cradle

59. if you were a video game character, what would your catchphrase be?

“absolutely not”

60. if you were a character in an anime, what kind of anime would you want it to be?

i don’t watch anime so i have no idea

61. favorite line you heard from a book/movie/tv show/etc.?

“war is war and hell is hell. and of the two, war is a lot worse”

62. seven characters you relate to?

radar o’reilly, arya stark, dumplin’, carol danvers, eleanor shellstrop, wayne and daryl from letterkenny.

63. five songs that would play in your club?

gas pedal - sage the gemini, gasolina - daddy yankee, despacito - luis fonsi, bitch better have my money - rihanna, and only nicki minaj’s verse from monster

64. favorite website from your childhood?

neopets or i think it was whitesheepblacksheep but there was a site that had a maze game that was set to the music Orpheus in the Underworld

65. any permanent scars?

my right foot from being born c-section, right shin from a staph infection, left wrist and left foot from ganglion cysts, and my chin from a golf club

66. favorite flower(s)?

all of them EXCEPT for the flowers from bradford pear trees. fuck those.

67. good luck charms?

not really

68. worst flavor of any food or drink you’ve ever tried?

oh god there was a grape juice my friend brenda had me try and it was just so tart it tasted like it had gone past expiration.

69. a fun fact that you don’t know how you learned?

i can tie and untie a hair tie with my fingers

70. left or right handed?

right handed

71. least favorite pattern?

i hate herringbone and houndstooth

72. worst subject?

the only math i breezed through was geometry

73. favorite weird flavor combo?

i really like potato chips and grape jelly

74. at what pain level out of ten (1 through 10) do you have to be at before you take an advil or ibuprofen?

like a 6 or 7. unless it’s mouth pain then like a 3 at most. 

75. when did you lose your first tooth?

probably 7 or 8? i can’t remember but i DO know that my mother kept all of mine and my siblings baby teeth

76. what’s your favorite potato food (i.e. tater tots, baked potatoes, fries, chips, etc.)?

potato gratin is amazing

77. best plant to grow on a windowsill?

succulents

78. coffee from a gas station or sushi from a grocery store?

coffee from a gas station specifically sheetz

79. which looks better, your school id photo or your driver’s license photo?

oh god my school photo. my license photo i look like i WILL kill the photographer

80. earth tones or jewel tones?

jewel tones

81. fireflies or lightning bugs?

i use both interchangeably 

82. pc or console?

i play internet games which is as far as i got with gaming. although i do really want a game cube so i can play monkeyball

83. writing or drawing?

writing

84. podcasts or talk radio?

podcasts

84. barbie or polly pocket?

i have 2 pollypockets still and i refuse to give them up

85. fairy tales or mythology?

mythology

86. cookies or cupcakes?

cookies

87. your greatest fear?

i really don’t like the dark lmao

88. your greatest wish?

mmmm i’m honestly not sure

89. who would you put before everyone else?

barack obama

90. luckiest mistake?

not checking the weekend of my brother getting married and lucking out that i bought concert tickets for the weekend before

91. boxes or bags?

bags

92. lamps, overhead lights, sunlight or fairy lights?

fairy lights

93. nicknames?

libby, libs, libster, “ms. teaguerson” is one i’ve gotten from a couple of kids i’ve subbed for, any version of elizabeth at this point.

94. favorite season?

fall 

95. favorite app on your phone?

i just downloaded a crosswords app and it’s fantastic

96. desktop background?

the sky being absolutely BLACK during an afternoon storm right before a big event at camp

97. how many phone numbers do you have memorized?

i think 8

98. favorite historical era?

i really love the clothes of the 40′s

[thriftchicago]

REVIEW: Brown Elephant (Clark & Balmoral)

Better than slumming it at the Hip

★ ★ ★

Brown Elephant is a cool store that stocks cool things and benefits a cool cause. However, be warned: even its’ drool-inducing furniture section features lofty prices. While seriously frugal types might enjoy visiting the $1 records section, Brown Elephant toes the line between “thrift” and “vintage” and, in my view, comes down on the side of too damn expensive.

MAJOR STRENGTHS: In addition to high quality, well-curated clothing, and a really impressive display of real vintage and antique furniture, Brown Elephant does a lot of niche departments really well. All appliances and electronics can be tested in-store with help from a clerk, and you’re far more likely to find some really nice speakers here than you are sifting through the sketchy electronics at a VDO or Unique.

Housewares and dishes come in complete sets and are clean and in good repair. This is one of the only thrift stores I’ve been to where the jewelry section was, like, the real deal.

There are many other tiny gems of departments: The $1 record shelf is a dream for aspiring rhythm rouletters and the weird art corner was full of strange, tacky paintings I probably wouldn’t buy (especially given the prices) but liked looking at.

Across the whole clothing section, I found the dresses  and leather jackets to be the most impressive and fun to look through.

The store is stocked by donations from across the city and all profits go to the Howard Brown Medical Center, which provides cheap healthcare to people across the Chicago. They specifically provide a lot of LGBTQ-specific services that other free/sliding scale clinics don’t provide, which is very cool.

MAJOR WEAKNESSES:

The furniture here is nice, but due to the high prices, you’re probably going to want to do research before you purchase anything to make sure you’re actually getting a bargain. For example, I spotted a vintage shelf going for $125 that was screwed together Ikea-style and had a cheap fiberboard back - maybe not the greatest bargain.

The clothing department as a whole is very small: womens’ shirts, for example, only occupied about two four-foot racks. In womens’ clothes, the pants and jeans are “old school” in a way that is not positive if you’re just a run of the mill modern woman. Expect bell-bottoms and jazzy pockets.

Brown Elephant’s true Achilles heel is the pricing, which is quite high, storewide. More on that later.

CLEANLINESS: 

In terms of hygiene, Brown Elephant is off the charts in a good way. Everything smells nice and the store itself is clean.

In terms of organization, things are a little hazier. Maybe even a lot. All the tools for a well-organized clothing section were present, but just... not being used.

literally

This was kind of mystifying given how much Brown Elephant seems to pride itself on aesthetic. They write you a receipt on an old-school piece of paper, all the employees wear matching brown aprons, and the store itself is an amazing old Vaudeville/dollar movie theater that’s cool to just wander around in.

So why can’t someone just organize the pants by size? Or at least store them with the waistbands out, VDO style, so customers can tell read the tag without eviscerating the entire rack? Come on.

QUALITY:

Look. I’ve been given to understand that sometimes people will get invited to their friend’s wedding or a frat formal or something and as a result will visit a store to purchase a very nice piece of clothing specifically for that event. I have never experienced the desire to do this, personally, but if I did, I would go to Brown Elephant to cruise for nice dresses before I slummed it at The Hip (DATED REGIONAL REFERENCE ALERT) or schlepped my way to the Nordstrom’s downtown.

PRICING:

Brown elephant lays it all on the table when it comes to pricing:

This pricing scheme has the benefit of being simple, but it doesn’t make a ton of sense to me: a pair of deluxe J. Crew trousers costs the same amount as a pair of shady “tribal print” harem pants from Forever 21.

You might note that dresses aren’t on the pictured list. They’re individually priced, and range in cost from $20 to $50. Ouch.

Scanning through the clothes section, I noticed that a couple items that weren’t listed on the card (hats, scarves, some of the shoes and aforementioned dresses) also didn’t have individual price tags on them. Anyone who wanted to purchase them was going to have to go up to the front desk and talk to a clerk, which puts that customer in the awkward position of having to be all “oh, wow, okay, never mind” if something turns out to be outside of their budget. At a Village Discount, Unique, or mom-and-pop thrift joint, all customers are united in being broke-ass bargain-cruisers, but here amongst the Rogers Park Retiree set and the 28-year-old Graphic Designers set, I felt kind of weird about money, which is never how I want to feel at a thrift store.

By Chicago standards, these prices are pretty high ($8 for a sweatshirt?). If you’d rather pay more per item for a highly curated store experience then slum it at a VDO, that’s a completely valid choice, but I would argue this is hardly true thrift.

Onto furniture. The stuff Brown Elephant stocks is high quality, in good repair, genuinely vintage, and priced accordingly. Like, $50 to $450, priced accordingly. I have student loans, and just thinking about dropping four payments on a coffee table was making me nauseous.

I was trying to surreptitiously photograph the pricetag on an (overpriced) shelf when an employee came over and got to chatting with me. He started trying to hard sell me right away, which freaked me out, but he also immediately cut the price from $125 to $90. Haggling is definitely on the table here, if you’ve got the mental fortitude for it.

A terrible photograph taken just before I was accosted by a man in an apron

WILDCARD FACTOR:

Brown Elephant definitely stocks exciting stuff, but it’s like, old people exciting. I visited with my mom and she got very excited about vintage lampshades and a mink fur toque.

SALES & SPECIAL BARGAINS:

I don’t believe there’s any rotating sales system, like you’d find at a thriftier joint, but if you join the mailing list, you can be the first to know about surprise sales, seasonal sales and clearance events.

MY BEST FINDS:

If I’d bought anything, it would have been this set of porcelain pantry vessels, going for a cumulative $50. Unfortunately, I don’t have a pantry in need of porcelain just now.

My conclusion is that the Brown Elephant is a cool store, but it’s not truly thrift. It’s simply not cheap enough (or gnarly enough) to qualify. If I ever have a salaried job or figure out what a credit score is, maybe Brown Elephant will be more my speed. Until then, I’ll stick to cheaper pastures.