I’ve recently read that Anna Wintour is against black on black outfits, a uniform that so many fashion-inclined youth choose to wear, and do so proudly. What does black on black offer that other colour combinations do not?
A week ago, I poured my heart into this awful, gut-wrenching love letter to an ex lover. Long story short, he moved on and it cut me deep. I missed my morning lectures the next day trying to cope, however I mustered up the energy to make it out for my evening lecture, so I draped myself in layers of black and went on my way.
In a way, black on black is a way for me to mourn myself. I’m letting the world know that I am not to be bothered with illusions of reality, because I’m too occupied trying to create my own. Black on black is my truth. It adds nothing to where nothing exists. And yet, this walking void is what consumes my presence, leaving an impression nonetheless.
In my layers of black on black, I ran in to none other than my very own undesirable no1: my ex. Behind the veil of black leather and clacking heels, I threw him my best threatening look (just to give you an idea of my level of distaste of him, I decided on the bus on my way to campus that if I ever saw him again, I would mace him. I didn’t mace him). It probably didn’t look that threatening in retrospect, but my outfit helped where I lacked.
Black on black is a defence mechanism. It is a threat. It is poetry in motion. I think in poetry. Black on black is a way to translate my state of thought into outfit composition. Everywhere you go, remember that your outfit is a work of art that you produce at the beginning of each day.
It is my statement. I am mourning myself, and wearing any colour other than my monochrome palette would be a lie. So I’m sorry Anna Wintour, that my life can’t be full of gaudy florals and bold colour blocking, but I’m too busy festering in my own little void of a space trying to figure out my life while I intimidate strangers who dare to lock eyes with me in the process. Any other colour combination cannot simultaneously allow me to command my space and subtract it from societal expectations that constantly bombard me.
When choosing to be a sexy Indian princess this year for halloween please remember that 1 in 3 native women will be raped in their lifetime (mostly by non-native men) and remember by doing so you’re contributing to the harmful stereotype and sexualization of native women. Halloween is fun. You don’t have to be a racist piece of shit.
all this defense of amanda bynes is weird af bc BEING MENTALLY ILL DOES NOT EXCUSE YOUR RACISM
like you’re not really here for mentally ill people if you think we don’t have the capacity to be decent people
men who hear the word feminism and respond with “how about equality instead?” like oh you mean feminism? yeah that’s what I just said thanks for your meaningless input
Like for Peach Bellini, Reblog for three-wick Winter Candy Apple and Iced Gingerbread, Ignore if you’re Jen from Appleton