Not extra

I spent some time on some style blogs today, watching the self-absorbed ramblings of a bunch of seemingly borderline insane people talk about their tatty, eclectic wardrobes... I got annoyed.

Then I changed my mind.

They were showing off their own individual favorite pieces and obsessions, admiring themselves, preening, telling the stories that define who they are, creating their own characters. Confidently. Unapologetically. Nothing wrong with that, is there?

I thought about the shopping experience at so many stores in NYC right now. Racks and racks of watered-down, identical pieces. A sea of sameness. I looked around in a ghost town of a department store this weekend, and felt suffocated by piles of similar garments. A wave of sadness and pessimism passed over me, and I decided that there was no reason for me to make another single article of clothing again. Ever. The market for all clothing, ready-to-wear or not, is fully saturated.

Then I changed my mind.

Because... I know what isn't on those racks. I know what I want. It isn't there. Right now, I am head-over-over-heels in love with a dress that only exists in my head, that I am determined to make. And when I do, it won't be "excess", because I am not an "extra" person. My point of view, my art, and my aesthetic are as valid as anyone else's. And so are yours. The piles of crappy clothing in the stores are the "excess" and "extra" we don't need. If we don't buy it, it simply won't be bought. The end.