I had a weak moment. I blame early to mid-90s Vogue.
Let me explain. I have something of a fetish for magazines, especially the aforementioned V-word. I have a decade's worth of subscriber issues and plenty of back issues bought off the internet for, frankly extortionate prices. I have a particular love for the Vogues of the era where I started high school - everybody was unusually clean.
Don't ask me, it was a well-scrubbed era of fashion. There was minimal make-up, slicked back hair...all the models looked, how can I put this? Significantly less skagged out is probably the least elegant and most accurate way of describing the phenomenon. It was the era of toothy grins, elaborate fringes and a whole lotta pastels.
Blogosphere, I tried to get back there.
Blogosphere, I failed.
I 'd be lying if I said I didn't know what I was thinking. It was a Ghost blouse - sheer turquoise and dotted with exhuberant embroidered multicolour spots: blues! yellows! pinks! And can you see this woman's house? She has padded coathangers that tone even with her cast-off outfits- she's clearly got it together. There's something very comforting about all that blonde wood. I start visualising Agas and then I don't know where the day has gone.
Ghost is a great label: its top secret mysteriouso vicose-based fabric that's floaty, sheer, super expensive and can be bunged in the washing machine and come out ready to wear, no iron required. Utilitarian and see-through? Why, I was going to be a young Kate Moss for all the world to see.seaside-y and sheer, exemplifying the English eccentricity of a classic label.It was only £2.20 and gosh, didn't I deserve a treat after my ten successful sales? Didn't Ghost, a shadow of its former self, fashion credentials gone, now that it's a staple for disheartened bridesmaids across Surrey, didn't it deserve to live again in its glory years?
I look like my mother's kitted me so I don't drool Farley's Rusks all over myself.Buying things is not the way forward.
Buying things traps you where you are.
Buying things is lying on the floor in your own filth so you can get get a humorous picture for your blog.
It's going back on ebay, out into the ether, where it belongs. I am also selling the behemoth. that is my four foot high mountain of magazines. My sister asked me with wide eyes: "But who would want them, Beck?" Easy: fashion students, fashion nerds, it's a rich market. I just hope they don't mind the spider corpses. Because they're free.
I am going to die poor in a house made of back issues.