It's raining and I'm a bit nostalgic. So of course, what I do to combat nostalgia and get some writing inspiration is to visit the Anthropologie site. Not only do I love their catalog for the fantastic shots and layouts, but there's just something about the vintage-meets-modern looks that makes my head spin. And the spinning wheels eventually turn to more productive pursuits than lusting after clothes...but for just a few minutes, I'm going to indulge my baser instincts.
How do I love this dress? Let me count the ways.
The print reminds me of August and going shopping for school supplies, of walking in rapture down the aisles stocked with freshly sharpened pencils and the smell of crayons, the dizzying variety of notebooks to choose from and the familiar, reassuring smoothness of those composition notebooks I used until about 5th grade. Doesn't the fuzzy black and white look just like that pattern? There's a little loose belt, and that's kind of school-girl too, and slightly fetish-y, providing something to tie and untie, keep one's hands occupied when class is boring or one's mother is lecturing about how homework must be done before she'll let you sneak off to the bedroom and read a stack of novels.
There's also the faint line of green. It's the sort of green I used to find on the seats and knees of my summer jeans, grass-stain green, evidence of sliding down the hillsides, climbing trees, chasing cats or siblings through the fields. And, the dress-up box sleeves, grown-up sleeves that hawk back to the days when I tottered around in hand-me-down heels five sizes too big and one of grandmother's old blouses worn as a dress.
Okay, okay. I hear you. You're saying, "Enough already about the dress. We got the picture..." I'm sorry. I get carried away!
Embarrassing fact about me: Every time I travel, I buy a Vogue or a Harper's Bazaar. I make my mother save the fashion catalogs that arrive at the house for when I make my once-yearly trip home. And then, on rainy days, I read them cover to cover with scissors in hand, saving the clippings and pasting them into an "inspiration book." It's not really for shopping, though if I had a bazillion dollars, it's possible I would try to buy some of those things. No, that book serves as a gateway into my imagination. For some reason, colors, textures, the drape of fabric and an exquisite seam...pictures of fantastical models and unreal lighting...it makes me dream. And when I dream, I write.
I don't suppose there's anyone else out there who knows what I mean?