I was thinking that I want to write a blog entry. Then I was thinking about all the relevant things that people care about that I could write about. Then I decided that, inkeeping with the denial of reality that is characterizing my summer, I would rather write about the two categories of clothes that I own: Cute and Ugly/Commemorative.
Most people know that I like to buy clothes. I also donate money to charity and teach kids to ride horses at a wholesome summer camp and have dirty hair and don’t shave my legs very often so you can quit your judging right now. I also lend boxes of my clothes to my friends Amber Stessy and Kelli when I am abroad so they can wear them in pictures and I can live vicariously through them, but that is irrelevant I am just reminding them. I have pretty specific taste in clothes, my specific taste being that…I hate things that are: tacky, have buttons, look cheap, look expensive, are boring, are too complicated, have too elaborate patterns, have too simple patterns, involve too much layering, don’t fit correctly, are too tight, are too loose….you get the picture. I like things that break any of the above rules but in a cute way. I don’t know, I just know what I like. That’s really all my specific taste is. That, short skirts and white dresses. Embellished tank tops. Lace and other see through fabrics. Rompers. White shorts and light colored denim shorts. My denim shorts with glitter on them that I can’t wear in Ghana, my lavender corduroy shorts that I can’t wear in Ghana, my new mint green skirt from American Apparel that I can’t wear in Ghana, all of my dresses that I can’t wear in – OKAY FINE, I’m a little bit depressed about leaving my clothes behind. I know what you’re thinking, they will be here when I get back. But WHAT IF, LET’S JUST SAY, I come back in December…AND I HATE ALL MY CLOTHES?!?!
Breathe, it’s fine. You’ve described the first category of clothing that you own, and you can now go on to the second. Calm.
Anyway, everyone has cute clothes, or clothes that they think are cute. Not everyone has this great second category that I have, entitled…
TADA: UGLY/COMMEMORATIVE CLOTHES!
I know I said I hate lots of things. But the main thing I don’t like about clothes is when they try to be something they are not. (kind of like people, actually) That’s the beauty of ugly clothes. They just shout loud and proud, I’M MUSTARD YELLOW ORANGE GREEN AND BROWN STRIPED SHORTS AND I DON’T GIVE A FUCK WHAT YOU HAVE TO SAY ABOUT IT! They don’t pretend to be more expensive than they are, they don’t make up any lies about making you look good. They’re honest. I think of ugly clothes the same way that I think of myself: Take me or leave me beezys, but I can guarantee that I am exactly what I advertise. In the clothes case, that is my orange and brown plaid shirt or my ripped up acid wash shorts or my tendency to wear knee high Christmas patterned socks with my short black Uggs over leggings. In my case, it is being short loud emotional and acting exactly how I feel all the time.
The second part of this category is even better. Commemorative clothes. I love them. More than any other items of clothing I own. In case this term isn’t clear, I will give a few examples:
1. My five wolf shirts (commemorative of wolves and collecting things)
2. My (Victoria’s) cut up shiny Mt. Rushmore T shirt and Extinction is Forever Polar Bear T shirt (commemorative of Victoria and sharing friendship)
3. My red tank top with Beta letters sewn on; the fabric of said letters being patterned with a church scene (commemorative of Irony and Beta and the Shamrock family)
4. My Robot looking Buffalo T shirt from Urban Outfitters (commemorative of Johnston and clothes that are far too big for me)
There are many more of these. Some are more overt than others. My tradit, my Hoofbeat T shirts, my Johnston clothes that were actually made in the name of Johnston. Some are less so. Alana’s sweat pants that I borrowed after we went to Baja freshman year and never gave back, but it’s okay because she still has my sweater. (We decided this.) The Zanjafest tank top that I mutilated and painted to say BUFFEST and then braided the entire back so now it looks more like a hankercheif than a shirt. My Redlands sweatpants that I wore so much during my quest to make neon paint for my self portrait final that they now look like they have neon blue and pink spots traveling down the legs. Commemorative clothes have stains. Commemorative clothes are borrowed, found, and made. Commemorative clothes have character.
The last category of clothes is somewhat of a mishmosh of these, and it’s a very small category. It’s the clothes that started out as clothes I bought to be cute and in good taste, and have gone through so much that they are now commemorative. For now, all I can think of is the Magic Dress. I call it the magic dress because I always have the funnest nights at Johnston and in life in this dress. Off the top of my head, buffest freshman year, graduation night freshman year, spring presents this year, and graduation night this year. It’s seen me through quite a lot, and even though it now has a rip from walking too close to the hinge on a bathroom stall, oh well. It has become commemorative.
I love my cute clothes, and I will miss them when I’m in Ghana, but they are relatively replaceable. Sterling knows they have to be, considering how often I lose my shit and how often I let people borrow things and forget to ask for them back. A part of me going abroad is going to be me letting go of my obsession with keeping everything, and carting it with me everywhere I go. I’m packing some dull colored t shirts, a few long skirts, linen pants (If I can ever fucking find them, anyone with information as to the whereabouts of linen pants please contact me now), and some more things that cover both my shoulders and down to my knees. Aka, nothing that I currently own. But you know, I think I’ll save a tiny square of my TBA baggage (the debate between rolling duffle and hiking backpack is still going strong) for my first wolf shirt ever. That at least deserves to see Ghana.