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-
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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