Our gods had hashish and liquor. Intoxicated and lusty with apsaras swaying and lounging all about, they ruled the world. The world was Maya anyway. A floating illusion, an idea. A drunken God’s hallucination. Blue gods. Gods with snakes coiling around them, flicking forked tongues. A mix of poison and somras. Someone’s divine high, that’s what we are living in.
Drapes. White Cream Off-white
Bunched up cloth spreading and opening from the shoulder, over the bodice, loosely till the waist
The sufis of ‘Khwaja ji’ with no zips and buttons, just wraps and tie-ups
Cool, Rubbed Soft, Voluminous, ship-sail like, Arabic flowy cotton yards
An envelope of cool air, away from grime and dust even if you stood on sand dunes
Very clothed but very naked
vs
Fitting, smart skirts with a shapely butt
Snug jackets with pleats and capped sleeves - funky and street and chic
High waist fitting jeans with a smart flat front
Control, strictness, style
Firm. Eiffel tower straight. Lean and tight
Hows March going to be?
My sweatshirt, sneakers and jeans.
Drapes and skirts are too much work, too much hunting. How about an easier fashion forwarding step? Trapeze dresses and leggings. Umm.. too doll. And done. I imagine it in blinding silk and viscose. Maybe a slouchy, jersey dress. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. Who will go and shop and hunt? Why is shopping so painful with helpful salespeople standing around. With clothes to select and throw over the arm and then the journey to the trial room where more disappointments than flattering surprises await. Nothing like finding the perfect silhouette, colour and style. But its a long hard joyless road. Trip abandoned.
Tired of the phrase Ethnic chic
Look at Ashram chic
From http://www.typography.com/ask/showBlog.php?blogID=79 by Hoefler & Frere-Jones
A journalist recently asked what it is about Gotham that we think suits the Obama campaign. We’ll defer to designers John Slabyk and Scott Thomas to make that call — they selected the font for Obama for America, we merely provided it — but one thing we can say as type designers is that Gotham isn’t pretending to be anything it’s not, which makes it an unusual and refreshing choice for a campaign. Political typefaces have a way of being chosen because they underscore (or imagine) some specific aspect of a candidate, working hard to convey “traditional values” or “strength and vigilance,” or any number of graspable populist notions. The only thing Gotham works hard at is being Gotham.
2008 is clearly a year of unusual thinking in political circles, because none of these familiar approaches can explain the utterly confounding typographic dress chosen by Senators Hillary Clinton and John McCain. Hillary’s snooze of a serif might have come off a heart-healthy cereal box, or a mildly embarrassing over-the-counter ointment; if you’re feeling generous you might associate it with a Board of Ed circular, or an obscure academic journal. But Senator McCain’s typeface is positively mystifying: after three decades signifying a very down-market notion of luxe, this particular sans serif has settled into being the font of choice for the hygiene aisle. One of McCain’s campaign themes is “Making Tough Choices:” is this the one you would have made? — H&FJ
Copy from a Vogue Promotion for Dom Perignon Endotheque -
“One after another, she becomes a Libertine Ingenue; a French Nurse in a postage-stamp apron, fishnet stockings and stilletos, the ideal female companion; an intimidating Businesswoman whose undergarments are as elegant as her suit is strict; a Tomboy in a man’s suit and tie, with the air of a severe, ambiguous young schoolteacher; a Mysterious Adventuress with bewithcing eyes in nighttime China, wearing a long silk sheath split high up the side; a Disco Queen eloquently poured into a mini-dress that fits like a glove; Venus in Leather ready to lash out with her dominatrix’s whip; and the “18th-century” Pretty Duchess, tormenting the young man with her perverse fickleness.”
“According to New Age beliefs Indigo children are highly sensitive with a clear sense of self-definition and a strong feeling that they need to make a significant difference in the world. They are empathic and can easily detect or are in tune with the thoughts of others, and are naturally drawn to matters concerning mysteries, spirituality, the paranormal and the occult, while opposing unquestioned authority and contradictory to convention. They are also said to feel a strong sense of entitlement.”
~Wikipedia
I don’t know much about Indigo. But I can think of people, places and activities I have been involved with. Quite quite Indigo-ish.
Not a hippie. Not rebellious enough for that. But very free, aware of the sense of freedom. And very assured. No proving to do. And full of questions and a touch of existentialism. Drowned in dope or engaged by keeping a busy schedule. Pure tiredness or sleep. A murmuring brain. Why am I here? What am I doing? What use is all this? From being absolutely non-judgemental to remarking “What a whore!” Acceptance. And a struggle you can’t put a finger on. When ultimately it feels like he is sensitive to vibes and moods and people’s frames of mind. Sensitive to all that he doesn’t want to be sensitive to. Doesn’t want to be a channel. Doesn’t want to understand circumstances, ironies and pathetic inequalities. Sensitive yet uninvolved. In tune. Outside. Really perceptive sometimes; Indigo for the heck of it at other times. Well, that can’t be avoided, comes with the territory.
Its great to feel hungry and then take a shit later.