Though I may be back I refuse to preface this post with such a lofty statement. The premise of which is so often compelled with genuine intention, but more often crumples forlorn under the weight of such pressure.
The fact is I love clothes. And as I've said before, it is more than material deep. I know one is limited in making any profound statements when the very thing itself is so tied up in materialism and surface value, but throughout my life clothing has been my chosen medium of communication, my coping mechanism, my jumping off board into conversation. It was often much easier to tell the story of myself through the seams of fabric that abounded my body, rather than the words that bumbled from my mouth.
I was, and still very much to this day, am a contradiction - so quiet in myself, yet so bold in my sartorial choices. It was innate, thought went into every outfit I have ever worn, yet it was never a choice, always a compulsion.
Then I got stuck. Reading fashion bored me, I impatiently skipped words, then sentences then whole stories altogether. The blogs I had (non-stalkerishly) come to view as friends - one-sided pen-pals if you will - fell from my computer history. My clothes became about comfort and ease rather than creativity and me. I felt implored to take on a new me and in spite of the fit not being quite right, I ignored the snugness and discomfort.
The early mornings of my new 'grown-up' job left my eyes blurry and my mind focused on adult concerns like 'brush hair - remember matching shoes - don't be late for morning meeting'. Suddenly discerning whether sequin leggings where appropriate daytime attire didn't quite seem like a feasible problem to have when you're existing off of printer toner fumes and mainlining coffee.
The blog never left my mind, but the content that kept floating into my brain felt stale, like I was plagiarising my former, more creatively adept, self.
Christmas came and I had no juice to fuel words, the New Year exploded into life and yet no amount of party poppers and paper hat wearing could razzle dazzle a story out of me. I was stunted, but then I realised that this blog has always been grounded in the personal musings of me, my whims, my moods, my concerns, my opinions. Of course the same issues may appear on this blog, but I believe enough in my own voice, that those very things will never be rehashed and always have new verve, every single time they register enough within my conscience to warrant me writing about them.
I live in Wales, so of course the weather will play a determining factor in my outfit construction almost daily, and shoes will forever remain a love of mine. This is after all a blog about me, myself and I, and slowly all three of us are realising that to not fit the mould is ok, but to force yourself into the semblance of someone other than you, is not. So instead of saying 'I'm back', how about I welcome you back into the fold.
(None of the above pictures are my own and I do not claim responsibility for them)
