Fashion. Style.

I prefer the latter. Wildly. And I even have some.

Fashion is the inexplicable resurgence of inverted box pleats in femininity-destroying, waist-denying (the heck for!!!???) bulky fabrics like maternity double-knits circa 1969. Fashion was (and, sadly, some people think: still is) gladiator sandals and booties (um, and, RIP Alexander McQueen. I guess.). UGH. Because, after all, what is more attractive on a woman than to visually depediate (cut off her feet) the length of her legs, at the ankles - or even higher!? What could be more flattering than to DENY the long curves of one's legs?

Fashion is Anna Wintour and her effervescent, obvious JOY in life and the joy she brings to others.

Fashion is, I still can't even comprehend this one, Andre Leon Talley appearing on AMERICA'S NEXT TOP MODEL, for goodness' sake. Whatthe??


Style is flattering.

Style is striking.

Style is artistic, creative, but not necessarily showy-for-its-own-sake (nor for money's sake, yes I said it).

Style is what my mama taught me, and what I feel like playing with. It's an awful lot of fun, painting with different styles. Sometimes together.

Vogue's problem is it rarely has fun. Joyless, dour, actually sometimes unbeautiful. Here is one of the most influential fashionistas on the planet. This was challenging once. Now it is actually creaky, old, entrenched. "Edge" itself has been institutionalized (listen to Tyra for one minute, and hear the sheer, lush ludicrosity of the necessity of both a "smize" -smiling with one's eyes - and "edginess" all in a single breath). It's as commodified as "punk" has been for over a generation now. It threatens to make goth kids light and fluffy. It is just one more depressing image of commerce and The Beauty Industry.

Not that I don't participate wholeheartedly in TBI, of course.

But I don't pretend I'm doing anything finer. And I don't feel the need to do so by prescriptive (stupidly expensive) methods. I'm CHEAP, man. Fifty-five dollars recently for a pair of Nine West shoes was a wild expenditure. Most of my dresses and clothes cost thirty dollars or less, unless I've *really* decided a few more bucks are definitely worth it. I thrive in Ross Dress For Less and Marshall's and Stein Mart (that's high end for me, baby). eBay is my happy place. I refuse full price.

And I refuse brand interests. Cachet. Whatever's "in". (Amusingly, just now, I accidentally typed wshatever - an amusing mistake, all variables considered, if just a hair off my MPAA rating.) Once I begin to realize some feature, some flourish is fashionable "this year" (or season, or whatever), I begin to resist mightily.

See also: rosettes on everything, right now. Ugh. Or those shutter pleat dresses my mom finds so impossibly enchanting. Or the halter tops girls with perfectly tiny, culturally-sanctioned figures have been wearing for more than five YEARS now, to make sure they look good and round, or pregnant. Goodness, people. I'm a *moron* and I can spot this stuff. I can see it as the unattractive junk it is, serving no purpose but to line someone's pockets for this month, and then all over again when everyone suddenly realizes this stuff is "out" again NEXT month. Come on!

Let go of fashion. Fashion something for yourselves. Get some real style. All your very own.