Today I decided to take up a subject that has eluded me ever since I became aware of its existence and the importance appended to it —fashion. Fashion and I share a mutual awe, the kind that you develop for something remote and incognisable. I have always given fashion a wide berth because of my abysmal depth of ignorance on the subject. Whenever I try to summon my patience and focus my mind on exploring its marvels, fashion leaves me stumped.
A case in point — the low -waist jeans. They should come with a statutory warning simply because there is no limit to how low it can get. A rage with the fashionistas, they barely manage to reach your waist. And if you decide to give the belt a miss, then you need divine intervention to keep it from sliding down further. I'm sure even those walking with a new-found swagger after donning that perfect and priceless pair, wait with bated breath for the terrible to happen. I bet they have that fear lurking somewhere behind that oh-so-cool demeanour.
Torn clothes once used to mean you are too hard up for cash to buy a new one. But now they are a statement. The distressed look doesn't reflect your state of being, but is carefully cultivated to notch up a few extra points as a natty dresser. So if your mother makes a dash for her sewing machine to mend your ragged jeans, please show some consideration. She just doesn't get the point, much like me.
A neat no-nonsense hair cut with a side parting and a perfect bhodrolok get-up. Is that your idea of a smart looker? Come, join the club, because like me you are also likely to be written off as too old-fashioned and out of sync with time. Haven't you heard of spikes and hair gels? I have always wondered how hair sticking out of your head exactly enhance your beauty quotient. To me, it looks more like a porcupine on the run. But what do I know of fashion?
That day, I met a friend after eons. As we got talking I couldn't help but get distracted by the little thingy under her lower lip. When I couldn't hold in my curiosity any longer, I told her there was something on her chin. I was almost going to wipe it off myself when she enlightened me on the object. That was a piercing and I was an official ignoramus. I won't blame her if she refuses to acknowledge my presence the next time we meet.
Since that meeting I have become acquainted with other types of body art, too...tattoos to be more precise. They find pride of place almost anywhere on the body. Permanent, temporary and semi-permanent, meaning they can be reworked as and when needed, tattoos are the "in" thing. So what if it peeks out from uncomfortable places? You can't stare at them without running the risk of being branded a pervert. Who will buy your excuse that you were merely trying to admire the art... or whatever little you can see of it?
So basically, I have given up on myself. I have resigned to the fact that I will continue to gape and gasp at these funky expressions of creativity without a clue as to what it is all about.
A case in point — the low -waist jeans. They should come with a statutory warning simply because there is no limit to how low it can get. A rage with the fashionistas, they barely manage to reach your waist. And if you decide to give the belt a miss, then you need divine intervention to keep it from sliding down further. I'm sure even those walking with a new-found swagger after donning that perfect and priceless pair, wait with bated breath for the terrible to happen. I bet they have that fear lurking somewhere behind that oh-so-cool demeanour.
Torn clothes once used to mean you are too hard up for cash to buy a new one. But now they are a statement. The distressed look doesn't reflect your state of being, but is carefully cultivated to notch up a few extra points as a natty dresser. So if your mother makes a dash for her sewing machine to mend your ragged jeans, please show some consideration. She just doesn't get the point, much like me.
A neat no-nonsense hair cut with a side parting and a perfect bhodrolok get-up. Is that your idea of a smart looker? Come, join the club, because like me you are also likely to be written off as too old-fashioned and out of sync with time. Haven't you heard of spikes and hair gels? I have always wondered how hair sticking out of your head exactly enhance your beauty quotient. To me, it looks more like a porcupine on the run. But what do I know of fashion?
That day, I met a friend after eons. As we got talking I couldn't help but get distracted by the little thingy under her lower lip. When I couldn't hold in my curiosity any longer, I told her there was something on her chin. I was almost going to wipe it off myself when she enlightened me on the object. That was a piercing and I was an official ignoramus. I won't blame her if she refuses to acknowledge my presence the next time we meet.
Since that meeting I have become acquainted with other types of body art, too...tattoos to be more precise. They find pride of place almost anywhere on the body. Permanent, temporary and semi-permanent, meaning they can be reworked as and when needed, tattoos are the "in" thing. So what if it peeks out from uncomfortable places? You can't stare at them without running the risk of being branded a pervert. Who will buy your excuse that you were merely trying to admire the art... or whatever little you can see of it?
So basically, I have given up on myself. I have resigned to the fact that I will continue to gape and gasp at these funky expressions of creativity without a clue as to what it is all about.
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