Two Fridays ago I went to a shopping event for work.
When my boss said: ‘Well, I’m sure Scarlet had fun. Scarlet loves to shop.’
It felt like nails on a chalkboard to me.
Do I like fashion?
Do I have a bit of an obsession with Barney’s Fourth Floor?
But no one ever bothers to ask why.
Fashion is art. It’s art you wear. It’s how people know what you are about. It’s how people know how you see yourself.
It makes me sad that some people only see my clothes & shoes & assume that’s all there is to me. It doesn’t make me sad for me. It makes me sad for them.
This goes back to the earlier post where I talked about people having facets.
It’s absolutely true that I love to look at fashion. I love to comb through items and study their architecture, because that is what it is, it’s architecture. If you’re a designer then you know what I’m talking about. You can’t just throw together pieces of fabric & have them come out looking wonderful. Designing shoes takes an even higher level of expertise.
It’s a talent, it’s a craft.
What people wear says a lot about them. Fashion trends say a lot about the sociopolitical environment of an era, of a decade, of a year, of a day. Sometimes they reflect where society is; other times they lead society to a place it never imagined it would go.
I love experiencing that. I love examining that.
It’s a different kind of archaeology. I might not be digging in the dirt (even though visiting the Brooklyn Target can sometimes feel that way) but I’m still digging. I’m still looking for what’s under the idea of that dress, that shoe, that tie etc…
That’s what I love. The only reason why I love the ching of the cash register is because it sounds like the ching a typewriter makes. I love that sound… it’s the sound of a working brain.
This morning, I was contemplating how many people misread me in this way. Some people have alluded to the fact that it’s my fault people misread me. Is it? Maybe I should dress like a librarian. Maybe I should dress like Tomb Raider… or wear a big hat like Indian Jones.
I was thinking about all of this while making bacon & almond brioche french toast & drinking french pressed coffee.
Then I thought about how much I adore breakfast & that my sister does not. I thought of a silly game she & I played with a group of girls last year. It was one of those ‘if X could do A or B which would she choose’ kind of games.
If G. could have unlimited breakfast all day or sleep all day which would she choose?
Everyone else said breakfast, because G. loves food. But I know breakfast is G’s least favorite meal of the day. She’s a bit of a lioness and would rather spend the day lounging in bed. Everyone was surprised that I was right & they were incorrect.
The next question was:
If Scarlet was a company would she be Microsoft or Maybeline. Everyone said Maybeline, but G. said Microsoft. She explained her choice by saying ‘Scarlet loves to know, that matters more than anything else. She’s fascinated by knowing. The rest is just…. glitter.’
Thinking about this made me realize that, no, it’s not my fault that people think I love to shop & there’s not much else to me. It’s not my fault they think the only reason why I bought my computer is because it looks pretty, when in reality I bought Ruby because she can go anywhere – which means I can put my 180 wpm typing skills to work & write almost as fast as I can think no matter where I am. It’s not my fault they fail to notice that I have a Palm Pre & not an iPhone or a Droid because the Palm Pre keeps me organized like no other system can.
(But it needs a Blogger app)
I try to notice everything I can about a person, a thing, a situation, an experience – I want it to be an experience. I want to immerse myself in it. I wonder why most people aren’t like this. Why they only see the leaves of the tree? Why don’t they see it all? Why don’t they bother to examine things to the root? Why don’t they want to know?
I also wonder why most people are content having relationships with people who think they’re Maybeline or think that they’d live for breakfast when those things are so horrifically incorrect.
Why are we so content to not know and to be with people who aren’t interested in knowing?
I don’t think I could ever be truly happy with someone who didn’t want to know, someone who didn’t want to excavate, someone who only wanted to live in the leaves & never get to the root.
And besides, the leaves are the first thing to die.