Saturday, 21 September 2013

Mind the Gap

London.  I forgot how these streets are like self-proclaimed catwalks.  Sprees of ready-to-wear fashion at your fingertips and some all-not-to-ready-to-ever-be-worn ensembles strutting down the pavements.  Stages where you can flaunt your wears and promote your identity, not matter what that may be.

This city is a cradle of trends, some genuinely original and some contrived in their frenzy to regurgitate the trends or beat them.  And ironically they just fall into another stereotype right? Mohicans with studded leather battle against twinsets and pearls (no doubt a flourish from Miss Middleton's influence).  Some perfectly groomed and others seemingly dressed in what could only be the results of tragic jumble sales in the suburbs... surely?  Who pioneered these wars between such fashion tribes I wonder? Estranged fashion identities merely cohabiting together.
It's practically balmy by London standards (I'm wrapped up in a sweater and biker) and there is all too much more than appropriate lily-white flesh on display.  That's what I love about this place.  Where back home the average sub-60 kg girl blushes over her under-toned underarm, these girls couldn't care less if their love-handles submerge their tube, waisted skirts, spilling out from beneath their crop tops .   Positively unbecoming, positively refreshing.
I forgot what a rush this place gives me and I wonder if there is at all a quiet place where you can read a book  unless locked in a toilet cubicle... Oh wait there is public transport of course.  How could I forget those tube rides?  Me, all of 5 ft 2 nestled into a complete stranger's 5oclock armpit, our arms entwined as we awkwardly grip the railings above our heads.  Ironic how invaded personal space can be here in a nation that all too often remains impersonal with each other.  Sometimes I feel like I missed the memo banning communication on the underground, like someone switched it onto mute.   Usually the only banter comes after the 7pm runs when the local pubs have loosened the white collars and stiff upper lips and we all forget the ban on conversation.

This city boasts creativity unabridged and raw.  And there ARE those who defy the gods of the catwalks and their deemed rightful trends.  These are the unique whose fashion fancies seem unrestrained.  Here some rockabilies, there some prims in pretentious hats... They all embrace this lawless existence of style where anything goes and nobody knows.


I know whether or not to believe the myth that they dress like this in the hope of being spotted, snapped and liked but my optimism yields me to think they are just dressing as they do for the sake of it, for the sake of being and for expression's sake alone and that not doing so is just not an option.  Whatever it may be it makes me all too conscious of my boring ensemble based on practical travel-packing and  it offers a breeding ground for bloggers and style hunters.  They thrive on the array of material at their fingertips.  Snap, snap, snapping away.  Guilty.

Whatever form, there is this unmistakeable, unstoppable energy that makes my heart-beat quicken and my being yearn for this city and all it has to offer.   Hello London, I've missed you.

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