I am a firm believer that fashion accurately gauges the state of one's surroundings. Take the intellectual, dark, and gothic themes of this season: these are certainly a reflection of the increasingly precarious political state of the world.
This maxim applies to individual communities as well, including that of suburban America. I am currently residing in suburbia after a three year stint in metropolitan Chicago, and I have noticed some rather peculiar things fashion-wise. It seems that the vast majority of the population here dresses
exactly the same. Here, risk taking and individuality is highly discouraged- it is a place where donning anything other than run of the mill jeans and a halter top becomes a point of contention; you are now the weird girl who dresses oh so strange. Even a couple visible tattoos or piercings (mon dieu!) can prompt a quizzical raise o' the eyebrow.
So here I am, awash in a sea of cheap rubber flip flops and I can't help but wonder: Why is suburban America so incredibly stifling to creativity? Why is everyone so desperately trying to look like everyone else?
Well, I have a couple of theories. One is that suburbanites live extremely narrow lives. Politically, they know that there is a war and that Bush is a moron, but that's really about it. They're far too preoccupied with their soccer matches and tennis lessons to get caught up in that silly humanitarian crisis in Darfur. This attitude extends to their fashion- why should they adopt this year's darker (yaaaay grey) styles when everything around them seems bright?
This brings me to my second theory. That is, suburban America was built on the Rockwellian ideals of the perfect family, the perfect house, the perfect life. Although most Americans don't actually experience this, they are nevertheless grasping at those last few straws of innocence. This is why whenever one sees something remotely out of the ordinary, they are shocked and immediately want to suppress it in whatever way they can. Because if something's different, it must be dangerous, right?
You can probably guess that I am floundering in this environment- I really just don't get it. I desperately crave creativity! Inspiration! Fashion!!! I want to stroll down the street and pass a woman in a Pucci coat one minute and a guy with a purple mohawk and twenty peircings the next. And I'm fed up with getting strange looks and comments from people who haven't even heard of Karl Lagerfeld or Phoebe Philo (Quel horreur!).
So, I have made a decision: from now until the moment I plant my suede booties firmly on that heavenly Manhattan pavement I will make clothing decisions based solely upon me and what I'm feeling that day. And should I feel like wearing thigh-high knit stirrups with slingbacks and suspenders, by golly I will! With pride, at that. And at the very least, I will get the satisfaction of knowing that I am not a mindless drone, haphazardly following the rest of the sheep in last year's clothing.
And who knows? I might actually like being the weird girl.