A friend of mine showed up from Italy (he doesn't read blogs, I'm safe enough). This guy studies fashion...like "studies" it. It's a little difficult being around people like that. Inevitably you feel like yanking the corner of your frayed tee shirt. I almost did, until i remembered, I've known this guy for ages, and scribbled chaddi dost on a nice Gucci shirt of his once! He knows I'm beyond hope. Then again i remembered, i fancied myself to be some sort of fashionable person. But the frayed tee shirt killed that particular pleasant thought.
So, ya, i met this friend for coffee, and I'm dressed in post-meeting pinks. Post-meeting Pinks, are the feminine equivalent of fatigues, they are salwar kameezes that give you credibility, plus they are pink, so they evilly play on your psyche! One has to dress carefully now it seems. At a recent seminar on the future of advertising, we were rudely informed that advertising professionals will not be treated with respect unless they dress to demand it. Apparently our "pony tails" draw more attention than our ideas. And pony tails, poor things, are the wrongest thing to do. Thankfully, I'm a woman so i get by, but the rest of advertising mankind, must get back to school and dress with care....cause here appearance is everything.
Anyway, i digressed a bit too much( this is a passionate subject)! So, my fashionista friend rudely informed me that i looked sidey. My heart fell, reached my toes i think. Surely i couldn't be blamed for choosing such a boring profession as advertising? Here, work wear is over kill and tee shirts are frowned down upon (by The People Who Matter). So i swallowed my pride and told him with over large eyes, that i didn't care, work was more important. A snigger made it's presence felt in the large empty emptiness of book-filled Brio. It didn't help that a table nearby had this skinny woman in skinny jeans discussing fashion and skinniness. (Hate her) So i looked away and pretended to intellectually read a book. More sniggers. Finally, the verdict. "You look goth". Images of architecture and illuminated manuscripts filled my head. More sorrow. My over large eyes were threatening to prove treacherous! Then, i was informed that goth is apparently this whole fashion "thing" very close to grunge! Oh, stupid me. Anyway, just when i was beginning to thank my kaajal for saving the day, i was informed once more that goth is apparently three seasons old.
I've stopped trying since. My jhola bag and chappals will never impress Louis Vuitton. And i don't really care. (Not meeting him too soon).