My cell phone beeps softly at 2:30 a.m., alerting me of a text message. The phone, which is right next to my head, does not disturb my slumber in the least. My roommate Lindsay however, who only scrapes the first layer of sleep, has surely been awoken.
For Lindsay Moylan, sleep neuroses are not the only problem. She is a New Yorker stuck in sunny Los Angeles. “In New York, I would always get into clubs without a fake I.D.” “At NYU we would all walk to school together from the dorms.” “This creepy cab driver once, kept hitting on me….,” and so on. Even the shady cabbies and subway degenerates are remembered without hostility. Lindsay, whose hometown is Santa Rosa, California, studied at New York University for a semester-long transfer program and if she had it her way, would still be there.
She would be there, but ironically she didn’t get back in when applying to NYU for the regular year. L.A. is arguably the next best city in America. Lindsay agrees. “I chose UCLA because the campus is pretty. I liked the atmosphere and vibe from the first time I visited, which is friendly and not uptight.”
However, when asked what makes New York the place for her, she spills, “Omigod, everything! The high energy level matches mine. The diversity there is like no other. There’s no racism. Everyone has something important to say. People are very political there. They keep up with the times and what’s going on in their country.”
To a Political Science major, this is a primary concern.
This lively description of New York may sound like it could easily fit L.A. as well. According to Lindsay, however, L.A.’s diversity is pathetic in comparison, the transportation is weak, and people are interested in only themselves.
“L.A. doesn’t feel like a city. It’s not alive like New York which never sleeps,” she explains.
Lindsay’s elitist perspective about New York may sound pretentious, but her character is far from it. Quite the opposite, she is a 5’1, impressively tan (natural, of course), dark-haired outdoorsy girl who laughs earnestly and heartily. She is somewhat “granola,” a characteristic I realized the first week when she was not at all bothered by the fact that we didn’t have a T.V. and wasn’t even interested in getting one.
Another thing that did not interest Lindsay was rushing for sororities. However, in true try-anything-once fashion, Lindsay agreed to come with me to see what it was all about. When we meet up after the first overwhelming meeting, she gushes, “The only cool girl I met is dropping out! I knew there was a reason I liked her.” She says this with a smile on her face. She continues the process for the next four days, each day no more convinced of the value of sororities, but still keeping a positive, if uncommitted attitude throughout the process until dropping out on the fifth day.
Ultimately, she thinks, “they kind of seemed like a cult. They’ll only include people who are in their group, and only hang out with other Greeks. They’re not into branching out to other people in the school.”
One affiliation Lindsay would have liked to branch out to was the soccer team. If she’d had more time in her schedule this quarter, she says, she would have liked to play. Her legs, although she hasn’t been playing competitive soccer for a year now, are sculpted with smooth muscle. Her feet have the gnarliest flip-flop tan I’ve ever seen and a girly pedicure.
Like the flower-stamped pedicure contrasted with her tomboyish attitude, Lindsay is full of contradictions. Her laid back attitude, characterized by whistling and singing songs stuck in her head not by the words, but by a “duby-duby-do” language, is matched by a close reading of the nutrition facts on soy milk and sensitive sleep needs. Perhaps Lindsay is partial to New York because the city is analogous to herself – it never sleeps. For now, she will learn how to sleep in sleepy old L.A., where she can at least further deepen her flip-flop tan.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Clubbin' on the Cheap in Sacramento
ARC students are dedicated, studious individuals who know the meaning of semester-round academic commitment.
But not you, you punk rock bundle of rebellion. Not this week. Next time that acquaintance of yours asks you what you've been up to, no longer will you say, "Same ol', same', man/girl: work and school." No, this week you're cutting loose and you're going to use the weekdays to get your freak on (on the dance floor) and use the weekends for your much needed R&R. Take that, finals study sessions! This week, you're going to party, and you're going to do it for under $20 a night!
Tuesday- Old Ironsides: Lipstick! (21 & up) Price: Free before 9:30, $3 after
Does anyone else remember 105.5 FM before it became the Christian Rock station? Well, for anyone who has been in a six-year slump ever since the kick-ass dance station went off the air, you'll definitely want to enter the portal that is the door to Old Ironsides Bar/Club into a hipster-world where the boys' jeans are tight and the girls' makeup is tighter. Did I say $20 before? 'Cause in this case it's free before 9:30! And you won't be spending any coin on drinks, no. It's a school night, remember?
Wednesday- Empire/R15 (18 & up) Price: $15 for 18-20 yr. olds, $7 for 21+, $2 off w/ college ID
Wednesday nights are synonymous with college nights at Empire, as is the crazy long line that stretches past the railroad tracks if you lollygag and show up after 10:30. A rite of passage when you turn 18, Empire is probably the best Sacramento has to offer the under-age crowd. Sure it gets sweltering hot in the summer and you have to dry off (ew) on the patio every half hour, but the sweaty "I'm a Slave for You" vibe isn't such a hindrance when you have body-thumping hip-hop to keep you going. Next door is the new bar, R15, that will mellow you out with music to chill to and artsy Bridget Bardot films (no sound needed). Here you can hang out with friends with not-too-loud music so your friends can actually hear you when you describe the hottie that was most definitely checking you out at Empire.
Thursday- Avalon (21 & up) Price: $10
With two spacious rooms to dance in, including two bright pink illuminated bars, you'll be gettin' down in this white-hot club. The music, or shall I say the DJ, rocks your world with club hits that keep your energy as high as Method Man and Redman in Amsterdam.
Friday- MoMo Lounge (21 & up) Price: $10
See Sacramento, or at least J Street, from the second story of the MoMo Lounge! Above Harlow's, it's a snug club with as much lounge space as dance floor. Petite dance floor, however, does not equal lack of personal space. If you're over the bump 'n grind scene, The MoMo Lounge is for you. In addition to an all-around positive vibe, the people give you space to practice all those sick dance moves you can only do alone.
But not you, you punk rock bundle of rebellion. Not this week. Next time that acquaintance of yours asks you what you've been up to, no longer will you say, "Same ol', same', man/girl: work and school." No, this week you're cutting loose and you're going to use the weekdays to get your freak on (on the dance floor) and use the weekends for your much needed R&R. Take that, finals study sessions! This week, you're going to party, and you're going to do it for under $20 a night!
Tuesday- Old Ironsides: Lipstick! (21 & up) Price: Free before 9:30, $3 after
Does anyone else remember 105.5 FM before it became the Christian Rock station? Well, for anyone who has been in a six-year slump ever since the kick-ass dance station went off the air, you'll definitely want to enter the portal that is the door to Old Ironsides Bar/Club into a hipster-world where the boys' jeans are tight and the girls' makeup is tighter. Did I say $20 before? 'Cause in this case it's free before 9:30! And you won't be spending any coin on drinks, no. It's a school night, remember?
Wednesday- Empire/R15 (18 & up) Price: $15 for 18-20 yr. olds, $7 for 21+, $2 off w/ college ID
Wednesday nights are synonymous with college nights at Empire, as is the crazy long line that stretches past the railroad tracks if you lollygag and show up after 10:30. A rite of passage when you turn 18, Empire is probably the best Sacramento has to offer the under-age crowd. Sure it gets sweltering hot in the summer and you have to dry off (ew) on the patio every half hour, but the sweaty "I'm a Slave for You" vibe isn't such a hindrance when you have body-thumping hip-hop to keep you going. Next door is the new bar, R15, that will mellow you out with music to chill to and artsy Bridget Bardot films (no sound needed). Here you can hang out with friends with not-too-loud music so your friends can actually hear you when you describe the hottie that was most definitely checking you out at Empire.
Thursday- Avalon (21 & up) Price: $10
With two spacious rooms to dance in, including two bright pink illuminated bars, you'll be gettin' down in this white-hot club. The music, or shall I say the DJ, rocks your world with club hits that keep your energy as high as Method Man and Redman in Amsterdam.
Friday- MoMo Lounge (21 & up) Price: $10
See Sacramento, or at least J Street, from the second story of the MoMo Lounge! Above Harlow's, it's a snug club with as much lounge space as dance floor. Petite dance floor, however, does not equal lack of personal space. If you're over the bump 'n grind scene, The MoMo Lounge is for you. In addition to an all-around positive vibe, the people give you space to practice all those sick dance moves you can only do alone.
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Defeats the Purpose
What kind of world do we live in where the girl on the Brilliant Brunette commercial is practically blonde?
Watch Out for Those Flames
Valentine’s Day is one of those holidays with fuzzy lines on whether or not a gift is required. And if not a gift, then the guy usually gives something short-term that can be eaten, that dies within five days, or that deflates after a week. But the gift given from the girl’s end is always difficult. Guys like flowers, right?…
When Christmas rolled around, I was faced with the same giant question mark of what to get for my honey. Something special, not cheesy, cheap, but not cheaplooking. Good luck finding something that fits that description at the Arden Fair Mall, I thought. Finally, three days before Christmas, I purchased his gift online: a night at The Mosser Hotel in San Francisco’s Union Square for $59! Shopping, city life, and a night alone in a cute, modern hotel for a cheap $59. I was stoked.
So there’s your idea, ladies. Give your man an experience instead of an object, if you’re in a long-term relationship, that is. If you decide to go the vacay route, here are a few things to consider…
Remember the Prom Rule
Remember in high school how sometimes the girl would ask the guy to prom? If that’s the case, then it’s typically good etiquette for the girl to offer to pay. I forgot this decree and had the rude awakening when charged for parking. Not just on the street either, the parking for our hotel was $30 for one night! So that’s the catch to a $59 hotel.
Don’t Let Anyone Ruin Your Day
While walking to the Museum of Modern Art, a homeless guy burst into a tirade and cussed me out for two blocks. Welcome to San Francisco, I thought. According to my boyfriend, Nick, this happens to everyone. Whether that’s true or not didn’t really help the situation and I cried afterward. My point is, no matter how messed up your trip gets, try not to let it ruin the whole experience.
While walking to the Museum of Modern Art, a homeless guy burst into a tirade and cussed me out for two blocks. Welcome to San Francisco, I thought. According to my boyfriend, Nick, this happens to everyone. Whether that’s true or not didn’t really help the situation and I cried afterward. My point is, no matter how messed up your trip gets, try not to let it ruin the whole experience.
Plan your eats ahead of time
Nick and I actually got this one half right. Although we hadn’t made a reservation, we planned on eating at the restaurant at the top of the Marc Hopkins Hotel. We even starved ourselves all day in preparation and to save money. By the way, that’s not a great idea seeing as how hungry = grouchy.
Nick and I actually got this one half right. Although we hadn’t made a reservation, we planned on eating at the restaurant at the top of the Marc Hopkins Hotel. We even starved ourselves all day in preparation and to save money. By the way, that’s not a great idea seeing as how hungry = grouchy.
We hiked up a particularly steep San Francisco hill, practically sweating in only 50 degree weather. When we finally found the place and arrived at the top floor, it was beautiful, like that scene from Sleepless in Seattle. There was live, jazzy music, people were dancing, and… a sign that says no one under 21 is allowed. Shnap! That rules me out. I am not about to let him go in by himself so we rode down the elevator of shame. A reservation would be smarter. And packing a lunch wouldn’t be a bad idea. It would give you an excuse to chill at a park.
Hope your hotel doesn’t catch on fire
All of a sudden, while we were back on the street searching for a place to eat, six fire truckscame racing from all directions, echoing off the buildings. Nervous laughter ensued as Nick and I realized, “Hey, they’re going in the direction of our hotel. Heh heh.” Lo and behold, we caught up to the fire trucks just in time to catch the firemen hoisting a ladder up to the second floor of our hotel. “My new camera!” Nick exclaimed. But with no fire or smoke to speak of and no one trying to jump out the window, we shrugged and continued our quest for a midnight dinner.
All of a sudden, while we were back on the street searching for a place to eat, six fire truckscame racing from all directions, echoing off the buildings. Nervous laughter ensued as Nick and I realized, “Hey, they’re going in the direction of our hotel. Heh heh.” Lo and behold, we caught up to the fire trucks just in time to catch the firemen hoisting a ladder up to the second floor of our hotel. “My new camera!” Nick exclaimed. But with no fire or smoke to speak of and no one trying to jump out the window, we shrugged and continued our quest for a midnight dinner.
Avoid eating at places we have in Sac
Our restaurant of choice after being rejected at the Marc Hopkins Hotel, or more appropriately of no choice, since it was the only thing open, was Mel’s Diner. The last place I wanted to eat was some place we could eat at in Sacramento. But there we were at Mel’s, in our fancy restaurant clothes, seated at a table sandwiched so close to another that we were practically rubbing shoulders with strangers. The chocolate banana milkshakes were definitely the highlight of the day, but after waiting half an hour for our entrees, we were presented with the bill. They had forgotten to place our entire order! When I did get my order, it was wrong, but I wolfed it down nonetheless. The moral: don’t wait too late to eat or research places that are open late.
Our restaurant of choice after being rejected at the Marc Hopkins Hotel, or more appropriately of no choice, since it was the only thing open, was Mel’s Diner. The last place I wanted to eat was some place we could eat at in Sacramento. But there we were at Mel’s, in our fancy restaurant clothes, seated at a table sandwiched so close to another that we were practically rubbing shoulders with strangers. The chocolate banana milkshakes were definitely the highlight of the day, but after waiting half an hour for our entrees, we were presented with the bill. They had forgotten to place our entire order! When I did get my order, it was wrong, but I wolfed it down nonetheless. The moral: don’t wait too late to eat or research places that are open late.
We never did figure out what happened to our hotel, although our hotel smelled like smoke when we returned that night. I suppose I should have known the kind of cash I’d have to shell out between tolls and parking and food, but going through that kind of National Lampoon- like vacation with my boyfriend is priceless. Happy Valentine’s Day, everybody, and remember ladies, try to believe him when he says he’ll like anything you give him. Does that mean socks? Hopefully not.
B-boys Battle for Crown at BVHS
The "Ashes to Ashes" b-boy competition on Saturday was sick, tight, wicked, and in a word: mad ridiculous, yo! O.K., that's three words, but my point is that the show was definitely worth the eight bucks.
The competition, held at Bella Vista High School on Saturday, Oct. 28, included The Pathway to the Crown, a 1-on-1 battle that is the fourth round in the West Coast qualifications of "Ashes 2 Ashes," whose winner heads to Portland to continue in King of the Hill. It also included a 3-on-3 crew battle, the prize again being the advancement in the "Ashes 2 Ashes" competition . Hailing from Seattle, San Francisco, and Sacramento, among others, 30 crews attended to battle for the "crown."
While I had never been to a competition like Saturday's, I'm not exactly spanking new to the b-boy scene. My ex-boyfriend break-danced, and we had a b-boy club at my high school that performed at rallies; however, a couple things I noticed indicated my break-dance status was still decidedly "newbie." For example, at the competition, standing on the outskirts of the spectator circle, my "whoo!" cheers were out of place amongst all the deep voiced "oohhhs!" I thought I had caught on after I lowered my voice a few octaves, but then I realized my cheer placement was wrong. Apparently, what I thought was impressive and cheer-worthy was just a regular old dance move or transition to the rest of the urban crowd. They seemed to give their props after the b-boys sequence of moves were completed, usually during the pose that seals it off.
Speaking of props, break-dancing seems to be such a polite sport, one based on respect. It seems to be an unspoken rule that respect is given when an extremely difficult or impressive move is executed, usually in the form of a single arm bobbing up and down towards the deserving performer, as if to say "O.K., O.K., that was dope." They weren't in the circle singing kumbaya, but there was no hostility. Aside from the occasional mock slaps and implied motions, the competitors are good sports in good spirits.
All good spirits aside, however, tension did develop between two b-boys. It appeared one b-boy got too close to the other's face during the usual taunting in the battle circle. Their crews quickly grabbed them, whispering something in their ears with a pat on the back. I like to think they were saying, "Dance it out!" And that's just what they did. After the set, they made up with a brief man-hug, tap on the back, then called it a day. There's nothing quite like a dance-off.
The 3-on-3 battles were fun, especially when they busted out routines. One move seemed to be popular among the crews. It went a little bit like this: two boys on the outside start out doing identical moves in sync (standing), then the middle guy, who the audience temporarily forgets about while distracted by the others' moves, would come out of nowhere and somersault through the middle of the two outsiders, punching out some tricky move that made his legs appear independent from his body. A grand finale followed, usually with all three perfectly synchronized in floor moves. Wow! I don't know what it is about seeing planned choreography, but it's so pleasing to the eye and, dare I say it, cute. It has something to do with the element of surprise of choreography amid all the free-styling, the fact that they worked on something together, and that they make it look so easy on top of it all.
If the competition seems like all fun and games to this point, it all stops at the 1-on-1 battle. O.K., keep the fun, but this battle is much more serious. If there's one thing that defines a stand-out b-boy, to me at least, it's diversity. The really good ones don't just stick to one style. Every time they step into the middle of the circle, their approach is different, they step it up, they showcase new moves almost every time. "Kid David," from San Francisco's Renegade Crew, won the 1 on 1 battle. He was my favorite. With an attitude of a performer, he always had a little smile on his face, even when twisting and turning and popping all over the laminated wood floor. And, of course, his moves were incredible - extremely fast, as if the fast-forward button on a remote control was stuck.
As for the 3 on 3 battle, Sacramento's own Flexible Flave (including "Future," "D-trix," and Nick Young) took the title.
I'm not going to lie; I did get a little inspired. I want to be a b-girl! Plus, one b-girl crew held their own. The only indication of girliness was their matching corn-rowed hair and coordinated purple and black outfits. From San Francisco, they were tough, talented, and a serious match for the b-boys.
So maybe I never will be a b-girl, but being a b-boy groupie for a night was enough for me. It was so exciting and it felt good to be a part of local culture.
The competition, held at Bella Vista High School on Saturday, Oct. 28, included The Pathway to the Crown, a 1-on-1 battle that is the fourth round in the West Coast qualifications of "Ashes 2 Ashes," whose winner heads to Portland to continue in King of the Hill. It also included a 3-on-3 crew battle, the prize again being the advancement in the "Ashes 2 Ashes" competition . Hailing from Seattle, San Francisco, and Sacramento, among others, 30 crews attended to battle for the "crown."
While I had never been to a competition like Saturday's, I'm not exactly spanking new to the b-boy scene. My ex-boyfriend break-danced, and we had a b-boy club at my high school that performed at rallies; however, a couple things I noticed indicated my break-dance status was still decidedly "newbie." For example, at the competition, standing on the outskirts of the spectator circle, my "whoo!" cheers were out of place amongst all the deep voiced "oohhhs!" I thought I had caught on after I lowered my voice a few octaves, but then I realized my cheer placement was wrong. Apparently, what I thought was impressive and cheer-worthy was just a regular old dance move or transition to the rest of the urban crowd. They seemed to give their props after the b-boys sequence of moves were completed, usually during the pose that seals it off.
Speaking of props, break-dancing seems to be such a polite sport, one based on respect. It seems to be an unspoken rule that respect is given when an extremely difficult or impressive move is executed, usually in the form of a single arm bobbing up and down towards the deserving performer, as if to say "O.K., O.K., that was dope." They weren't in the circle singing kumbaya, but there was no hostility. Aside from the occasional mock slaps and implied motions, the competitors are good sports in good spirits.
All good spirits aside, however, tension did develop between two b-boys. It appeared one b-boy got too close to the other's face during the usual taunting in the battle circle. Their crews quickly grabbed them, whispering something in their ears with a pat on the back. I like to think they were saying, "Dance it out!" And that's just what they did. After the set, they made up with a brief man-hug, tap on the back, then called it a day. There's nothing quite like a dance-off.
The 3-on-3 battles were fun, especially when they busted out routines. One move seemed to be popular among the crews. It went a little bit like this: two boys on the outside start out doing identical moves in sync (standing), then the middle guy, who the audience temporarily forgets about while distracted by the others' moves, would come out of nowhere and somersault through the middle of the two outsiders, punching out some tricky move that made his legs appear independent from his body. A grand finale followed, usually with all three perfectly synchronized in floor moves. Wow! I don't know what it is about seeing planned choreography, but it's so pleasing to the eye and, dare I say it, cute. It has something to do with the element of surprise of choreography amid all the free-styling, the fact that they worked on something together, and that they make it look so easy on top of it all.
If the competition seems like all fun and games to this point, it all stops at the 1-on-1 battle. O.K., keep the fun, but this battle is much more serious. If there's one thing that defines a stand-out b-boy, to me at least, it's diversity. The really good ones don't just stick to one style. Every time they step into the middle of the circle, their approach is different, they step it up, they showcase new moves almost every time. "Kid David," from San Francisco's Renegade Crew, won the 1 on 1 battle. He was my favorite. With an attitude of a performer, he always had a little smile on his face, even when twisting and turning and popping all over the laminated wood floor. And, of course, his moves were incredible - extremely fast, as if the fast-forward button on a remote control was stuck.
As for the 3 on 3 battle, Sacramento's own Flexible Flave (including "Future," "D-trix," and Nick Young) took the title.
I'm not going to lie; I did get a little inspired. I want to be a b-girl! Plus, one b-girl crew held their own. The only indication of girliness was their matching corn-rowed hair and coordinated purple and black outfits. From San Francisco, they were tough, talented, and a serious match for the b-boys.
So maybe I never will be a b-girl, but being a b-boy groupie for a night was enough for me. It was so exciting and it felt good to be a part of local culture.
Plato was wrong: fashion is not pointless
There are two worlds. One matters and the other doesn’t. As it turns out, we live in the one that doesn’t. So said ancient Greek philosopher Plato.
“The Idea World is more real than the world of the senses,” Dr. David Lopez lectured in my philosophy class.
Plato’s view of reality is based on his “Two Worlds Theory.” The two worlds Plato speaks of are the “World of Forms” and the “World of Appearances.”
The “World of Forms,” according to Plato, is an alternate universe of sorts where our souls came from. Dr. Lopez drew a picture of a soul: a smiley-face with wings. The “World of Forms” is reality, true being, a heaven-like place where there is only truth and ideas, like the idea of beauty, justice, or even a triangle. The other world, the flawed world we live in now, is the “World of Appearances.” This is a place where beautiful things like sunsets or flowers are all fleeting to the senses. Only our minds can grasp “beauty” itself, while to the senses, it eventually fades away. The smiley-face with wings can only wait for death so it can return to the “World of Forms.”
This makes fashion useless, I thought as I struggled over what to write for my usual Fashion Minute column. Fashion is nothing but a pleasure for the senses. It does nothing for our souls, nothing to help us get back to the “World of the Forms.” If anything, it just deepens us into our trivial “World of Appearances.”
Plato also has a Theory of Reincarnation, which poses that if one should get too stuck in the senses, he or she will never graduate to the World of the Forms with death, which according to Plato, is where you want to go. Rather, you will be stuck in another body, reincarnated so you will be stuck in the “World of Appearances” for another lifetime as punishment for being so superficial.
While learning about this in class, I began to think about appearances, and what they were good for. This struggle made it difficult to write about fashion which is based on nothing but appearances. My typing was halted by a weight of superficiality and self-absorption. I felt like a creature of vanity, like everything I wrote would be seen as petty, nothing but fluff. The questions kept popping into my head: why does it matter? Does fashion really count for anything? And is fashion something substantial and respectable enough that one can write about while still maintaining a person of substance who doesn’t believe that you are what you wear.
One of my professors from last semester who regularly read my articles kept telling me that fashion was something I would fall out of, and encouraged me to consider other things, like broadcasting, or to write about topics or movements more worthwhile. I can’t say I completely disagree with the man.
And now, realizing I’m stuck in the World of Appearances, I’m faced with the blaring insignificance of it all. So where has fashion gotten us? We’ll be reincarnated into sloths, we’re broke, and we’re phonies.
Although if I were to believe Plato, who’s to say that I can’t enjoy my time here in the World of Appearances? I’ve already been punished by being stuck in the “World of Appearances.” I’m already here. And you know what appearances are good for? Feeling good about yourself. That’s worth something. Confidence is perhaps the most important ingredient of any mission in life.
And I like fashion. I enjoy seeing other people with unique looks and being attracted to a person by being able to tell what he or she is like. It’s not a judgment call; it reflects our background, our region, and our values. Besides dressing appropriately to where we want to get in life, fashion is a means of communication.
I don’t know if the fashion industry is going to be “it” for me. Maybe it is too superficial. But it’s no sin to get a high off fashion magazines or to blow your paycheck on a shopping spree every once in a while. As long as we work on the smiley-face with wings every once in a while, I think we’ll be O.K.
“The Idea World is more real than the world of the senses,” Dr. David Lopez lectured in my philosophy class.
Plato’s view of reality is based on his “Two Worlds Theory.” The two worlds Plato speaks of are the “World of Forms” and the “World of Appearances.”
The “World of Forms,” according to Plato, is an alternate universe of sorts where our souls came from. Dr. Lopez drew a picture of a soul: a smiley-face with wings. The “World of Forms” is reality, true being, a heaven-like place where there is only truth and ideas, like the idea of beauty, justice, or even a triangle. The other world, the flawed world we live in now, is the “World of Appearances.” This is a place where beautiful things like sunsets or flowers are all fleeting to the senses. Only our minds can grasp “beauty” itself, while to the senses, it eventually fades away. The smiley-face with wings can only wait for death so it can return to the “World of Forms.”
This makes fashion useless, I thought as I struggled over what to write for my usual Fashion Minute column. Fashion is nothing but a pleasure for the senses. It does nothing for our souls, nothing to help us get back to the “World of the Forms.” If anything, it just deepens us into our trivial “World of Appearances.”
Plato also has a Theory of Reincarnation, which poses that if one should get too stuck in the senses, he or she will never graduate to the World of the Forms with death, which according to Plato, is where you want to go. Rather, you will be stuck in another body, reincarnated so you will be stuck in the “World of Appearances” for another lifetime as punishment for being so superficial.
While learning about this in class, I began to think about appearances, and what they were good for. This struggle made it difficult to write about fashion which is based on nothing but appearances. My typing was halted by a weight of superficiality and self-absorption. I felt like a creature of vanity, like everything I wrote would be seen as petty, nothing but fluff. The questions kept popping into my head: why does it matter? Does fashion really count for anything? And is fashion something substantial and respectable enough that one can write about while still maintaining a person of substance who doesn’t believe that you are what you wear.
One of my professors from last semester who regularly read my articles kept telling me that fashion was something I would fall out of, and encouraged me to consider other things, like broadcasting, or to write about topics or movements more worthwhile. I can’t say I completely disagree with the man.
And now, realizing I’m stuck in the World of Appearances, I’m faced with the blaring insignificance of it all. So where has fashion gotten us? We’ll be reincarnated into sloths, we’re broke, and we’re phonies.
Although if I were to believe Plato, who’s to say that I can’t enjoy my time here in the World of Appearances? I’ve already been punished by being stuck in the “World of Appearances.” I’m already here. And you know what appearances are good for? Feeling good about yourself. That’s worth something. Confidence is perhaps the most important ingredient of any mission in life.
And I like fashion. I enjoy seeing other people with unique looks and being attracted to a person by being able to tell what he or she is like. It’s not a judgment call; it reflects our background, our region, and our values. Besides dressing appropriately to where we want to get in life, fashion is a means of communication.
I don’t know if the fashion industry is going to be “it” for me. Maybe it is too superficial. But it’s no sin to get a high off fashion magazines or to blow your paycheck on a shopping spree every once in a while. As long as we work on the smiley-face with wings every once in a while, I think we’ll be O.K.
Fashion has its own style -- of conversation, that is
Does this make me look ***
"O.K., be, like, totally objectively honest: do these jeans make my legs look hammy? Like, hammy legs?"
"No, they're cute."
"The cut is funny though."
"What do you think of this?"
"It's a good color on you, but it's a little tight."
"Do these zippers make me look chubby?"
"Are these puffy sleeves cute or are they, like, way too Michael Jackson?"
Dressing room talk. A language all its own. Only understood by the two girls behind the closed doors shimmying in and out of the heap of clothes they picked off the racks. They speak in a tongue of insecurity and dependence on the other's opinion, with the emphasis of the language being "like" and the only two words really mattering being "cute" or heaven forbid, "chubby" (or "hammy" in the case of the two girls I overheard in a Los Angeles clothing store over the weekend).
My sister and I are no exception. If I hadn't checked with her on that thin, striped cardigan with the fake pockets, I may have bought it (Gasp)! What a disaster that would've been.
To purchase or not to purchase?
There was one more sweater that I wasn't sure about. It was on sale -- marked down from 60 dollars to 40 dollars, with an additional 50 percent off of all women's sale items, making it 20 measly dollars. Sweet! But was I buying it for my true passion for the garment or simply because of its markdown appeal? It looked cute enough when I tried it on, but there was nothing too special about it.
How does one make a decision of such caliber? The answer to this dilemma comes when a girl reaches the counter to pay and is faced with the permanence of the situation (you could return it, but that's a pain, and what if they only give store credit!). You either calmly succumb to your decision and allow the cashier to scan the cheap gem, or you rip the sweater from their hands in a frenzy and throw it back into the reject pile also known as the "go-backs." O.K., so maybe you just mentally play that out and tell them you've changed your mind, but the decision has been made.
Eternal Sale
A sale is a funny thing. It puts a haze over our good judgment and possesses a magnetic force that draws us into stores. A family friend who owns a boutique in Beverly Hills laughs as she tells us that the SALE sticker on the front window has been there for years. And I'm pretty sure the Sale stand at the entrance to Forever 21 is rusted to the floor. But in their defense, there really is a sale, way in back, on crap, ahem, I mean clothes, that haven't sold in 2+ seasons. But one woman's pass on the kelly green off-the-shoulder sweater is another woman's treasure. Me being the latter woman in that case. The sweater was seven bucks! So it has a hole in the armpit; I just don't raise my hand in class on those days. College is a call-out environment, anyway.
Spice girl shoes and pleather jumpsuits
While cruising the shops on Ventura in L.A. on Saturday, I weighed the pros and cons of a quiet boutique and a regular old mall store. The most important pro of a boutique is that you have the assurance that you are probably the only one wearing the item, basically making you "the shit" in your head. You don't have that leverage when you buy your shirt at Abercrombie. But, and maybe this is just my personal thing, in a department/mall store, you do hold that certain anonymity that I sometimes crave when I find myself being watched while browsing in a boutique. Sure, the attention in a boutique is great sometimes. But here's where it starts to get infringing. "We have those in black, too," says the smiling saleslady at a shoe shop on Ventura. Oh, these platform sneakers that I'm sure Scary Spice wore at one time that I was just internally laughing at? Thanks for the heads up. But I'm being petty. She was being helpful, and I really did appreciate her attention.
There is a certain "attention," though, that I don't appreciate quite as much. A certain Sacramento shop, whose employees obviously work on commission, throw weird compliments at you, along with weird jumpsuits that you would never wear, to get you to try things on, and of course, buy them. A dressing room full of things they picked out for you that you passed up for a reason awaits you as you shop. That cheap looking pleather dress is "so my style?" Ew, now I'm uncomfortable and insulted. I understand that this kind of selling is probably taught in their store as a way to connect in a "girlfriend" kind of way to the customers, but I came to shop, not to feel guilty about turning down suggestions.
Vicious (yet fun) cycle
So why is shopping so damn fun? Yes, the process seems to be therapeutic, but what is there to be said about the end result, when you put them into your closet? They lose some of their mystique, I think. I often think about the clothes you wear while on your shopping trip. These clothes were once exciting and new, now they're ours, and when we got dressed in the morning, we probably weren't as excited as when we tried them on that first time in the dressing room. What makes us think that the clothes we shop for on said trip will be any different? The answers, I think, are scattered, but all have to do with advertising, celebrities, and the idea that we envy and emulate others. Shopping is said to be the American past time. And there's nothing horribly wrong with that. Just make sure you bring a friend, because who else is going to tell you if your legs look hammy?
"O.K., be, like, totally objectively honest: do these jeans make my legs look hammy? Like, hammy legs?"
"No, they're cute."
"The cut is funny though."
"What do you think of this?"
"It's a good color on you, but it's a little tight."
"Do these zippers make me look chubby?"
"Are these puffy sleeves cute or are they, like, way too Michael Jackson?"
Dressing room talk. A language all its own. Only understood by the two girls behind the closed doors shimmying in and out of the heap of clothes they picked off the racks. They speak in a tongue of insecurity and dependence on the other's opinion, with the emphasis of the language being "like" and the only two words really mattering being "cute" or heaven forbid, "chubby" (or "hammy" in the case of the two girls I overheard in a Los Angeles clothing store over the weekend).
My sister and I are no exception. If I hadn't checked with her on that thin, striped cardigan with the fake pockets, I may have bought it (Gasp)! What a disaster that would've been.
To purchase or not to purchase?
There was one more sweater that I wasn't sure about. It was on sale -- marked down from 60 dollars to 40 dollars, with an additional 50 percent off of all women's sale items, making it 20 measly dollars. Sweet! But was I buying it for my true passion for the garment or simply because of its markdown appeal? It looked cute enough when I tried it on, but there was nothing too special about it.
How does one make a decision of such caliber? The answer to this dilemma comes when a girl reaches the counter to pay and is faced with the permanence of the situation (you could return it, but that's a pain, and what if they only give store credit!). You either calmly succumb to your decision and allow the cashier to scan the cheap gem, or you rip the sweater from their hands in a frenzy and throw it back into the reject pile also known as the "go-backs." O.K., so maybe you just mentally play that out and tell them you've changed your mind, but the decision has been made.
Eternal Sale
A sale is a funny thing. It puts a haze over our good judgment and possesses a magnetic force that draws us into stores. A family friend who owns a boutique in Beverly Hills laughs as she tells us that the SALE sticker on the front window has been there for years. And I'm pretty sure the Sale stand at the entrance to Forever 21 is rusted to the floor. But in their defense, there really is a sale, way in back, on crap, ahem, I mean clothes, that haven't sold in 2+ seasons. But one woman's pass on the kelly green off-the-shoulder sweater is another woman's treasure. Me being the latter woman in that case. The sweater was seven bucks! So it has a hole in the armpit; I just don't raise my hand in class on those days. College is a call-out environment, anyway.
Spice girl shoes and pleather jumpsuits
While cruising the shops on Ventura in L.A. on Saturday, I weighed the pros and cons of a quiet boutique and a regular old mall store. The most important pro of a boutique is that you have the assurance that you are probably the only one wearing the item, basically making you "the shit" in your head. You don't have that leverage when you buy your shirt at Abercrombie. But, and maybe this is just my personal thing, in a department/mall store, you do hold that certain anonymity that I sometimes crave when I find myself being watched while browsing in a boutique. Sure, the attention in a boutique is great sometimes. But here's where it starts to get infringing. "We have those in black, too," says the smiling saleslady at a shoe shop on Ventura. Oh, these platform sneakers that I'm sure Scary Spice wore at one time that I was just internally laughing at? Thanks for the heads up. But I'm being petty. She was being helpful, and I really did appreciate her attention.
There is a certain "attention," though, that I don't appreciate quite as much. A certain Sacramento shop, whose employees obviously work on commission, throw weird compliments at you, along with weird jumpsuits that you would never wear, to get you to try things on, and of course, buy them. A dressing room full of things they picked out for you that you passed up for a reason awaits you as you shop. That cheap looking pleather dress is "so my style?" Ew, now I'm uncomfortable and insulted. I understand that this kind of selling is probably taught in their store as a way to connect in a "girlfriend" kind of way to the customers, but I came to shop, not to feel guilty about turning down suggestions.
Vicious (yet fun) cycle
So why is shopping so damn fun? Yes, the process seems to be therapeutic, but what is there to be said about the end result, when you put them into your closet? They lose some of their mystique, I think. I often think about the clothes you wear while on your shopping trip. These clothes were once exciting and new, now they're ours, and when we got dressed in the morning, we probably weren't as excited as when we tried them on that first time in the dressing room. What makes us think that the clothes we shop for on said trip will be any different? The answers, I think, are scattered, but all have to do with advertising, celebrities, and the idea that we envy and emulate others. Shopping is said to be the American past time. And there's nothing horribly wrong with that. Just make sure you bring a friend, because who else is going to tell you if your legs look hammy?
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