Robots

I’ve been feeling weird lately. And I’ve been soothing this weirdness with shopping. It seems I’ve snatched up strange pieces from all over lower Manhattan. These have been the sorts of things I wouldn’t normally be able to talk myself into purchasing, and if I did, they’d end up inhabiting the back corner of my bureau for several months until I finally talked myself out of the idea that I will someday, in a sudden lightbulb moment, find how to effectively incorporate them into my look. The best part is, I’ve not only been buying a bunch of new, weird garb, but I’ve been wearing it too… wearing it, like I’ve worn it forever, like lovers from a past life. I have found, the best way to make sure you wear the shit you buy is to force yourself to wear it immediately (like the day or day after you purchase it). After doing this, If you were wrong in buying it, you’ll know, and if you weren’t, well, you will also know. This avoids waiting an entire year to realize an erroneous purchase. You can them promptly resell it at Buffalo Exchange and move on— and you can say you wore it once. A Win Win Win, really.

None of that last bit really matters, it was all just a meandering blurb that turned into unsolicited advice. To bring it back around, I simply want to highlight the recently severe fluctuation in my sartorial cravings towards the definitively bizarre. One thing I have always loved, since early girlhood, is insisting things are everyday wear items that absolutely are not. This is easy when you are a child and your dress-up box is stored in your closet beneath your real clothes; it’s also easily excusable. It gets slightly more difficult as an adult woman, who has learned the difference between a halloween costume and a statement piece. Regardless I still experience moments where I just can’t find what I am looking for– when I just KNOW, deep within my heart, what shoe I want, or jacket, or top… or whatever, really– I can SEE it– and the only items that comes even close [and are financially viable] are usually made by  costume manufacturers. This has happened a lot with platform boots, but fortunately that trend has officially caught on, and ‘flatforms’ are no longer a ‘did you mean‘ Google search term.

What I’m getting at is this: when you feel compelled to dress like a child, you probably should, assuming, of course, that you won’t lose your job, boyfriend, girlfriend, spouse, mind, professional credibility, etc., over it. You are a human living in a world of infinite possibilities, and if you don’t believe that what you wear reflects [somewhat] who you are, you are utterly forsaking one of the easiest, most effective, and not to mention, fucking fun ways to communicate yourself to your fellow (wo)man. I mean, come on, it’s your BODY; you care what you put inside it, you should care what you put ON it.

Let’s then assume you DO care. Two words: DO IT. Though I may or may not still be able to choose whether or not I have a child, last I checked, I can still pick out what I wear, and with the added benefit of living in a city where literally nothing surprises anyone anymore, I am going to [henceforth] take FULL advantage. And so should you. You don’t want to die tomorrow never having experienced the feeling of every set of eyes in the 6pm subway station transfixed on you (or your weird outfit), do you? It feels good. It feels good to be acknowledged. It feels good to not know whether your outfit has offended or entertained someone. Inevitably you will inspire someone to be more bold.

So finally, this is where I tell you what has inspired this post. I was looking at some images on the Nasty Gal blog and there was an image of the actress from the original Tron movie, and I just thought, ‘I need a robot one-piece’. I don’t care. I just need one. I’ll only be able to find one on a costume site, but I just need one. Can you picture a geometric printed bodysuit with platform wedge boots and an oversized faux fur coat for fall? UGHN. I have to note: I hate the side of me that transmits this kind of thought. It wastes a lot of my time, and spends a lot of my money, and it often makes me feel petty and self-obsessed, but ultimately it makes being me considerably more exciting… so, it’s fine, it works. And it’s fine for you too. Just as the pregnant woman unashamedly eats midnight pickles, ice cream, and sometimes dirt, you too must succumb to your strange cravings. I think I have to buy both of these and especially not wear them for Halloween. I just kind of have a thing for robots.

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About TARA

American Photographer. Musician. Writer. Science enthusiast.
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