Sunday, 19 February 2012

INTIMATIONS - Best make yourself a cuppa

Now.  You may not take me seriously as a fashion blogger, not just because my most recent texticular purchase was some thermals from Asda (spazda as we affectionately call it, sits alongside 'piddle' Lidl and 'grotesquo' Tesco nicely).  For your information, today I also bought seven, SEVEN, packets of McVities milk chocolate digestives (they are on special offer at the aforementioned 'grotesquo' at seventy five pence a pop. Yes siree, that's a whole pound less than the going rate.  I was going to round it up to ten but my quick witted brain worked out the math before I could stop it and after that I couldn't justify spending £7.50 on non nourishing food stuffs, even if I was saving a tenner by doing so.  Luckily 7x75p required a moment's concentration, which I rarely have access to nowadays, so I settled on good old number seven, which comes with a stamp of approval from the Bible.  Another quick tip, if you are a fan of the rooibos and you live in the UK -sorry my Indian fans, this excludes you rather harshly but then I would rather be sipping sweet Chai on the cliff top in Varkala than singing the praises of Satan himself, so you are not missing much believe me- a quid a box for the original Tick Tock tea, and lord knows I like an original, so I gots me four of them bad boys.  In fact, if you have any sense at all, you will stop reading this drivel now and do a quick-a-di-click buy-in-bulk online shop).

Still not convinced that I don't know what I am talking about and am of feeble albeit frugal mind? Here is another reason to ignore my take on fashion: Every item of clothing that has been lucky enough to join my cosy wardrobe in the past four years has either been rehomed after a stint at the local Marie Curie or wound up on my doorstep a non-classifiable lump of matter held together by generous swathes of brown tape after the Royal 'on a wing and a prayer' Mail treatment post Ebay listing.

Look, I even fail at Ebaying.  My strategy is flawed in that I intend to put in my bid when the counter hits 6s to go, therefore outsmarting-and-bidding other contenders, but when the time is nigh I always forget that the all important auction is ending RIGHT NOW and miss the damn item I have been so tenderly longing for and watched like a stalker for eight long days.  I then torture myself by checking how much the lucky bastard winner paid for MY goodies and it's generally no more than a few pounds. 

Seeing as veracity is the 'soup du jour' while quit while I'm behind?  Have you noticed that I have been my own sleeping partner on my blog for many months?  Not a sausage to amuse you most of 2011.  The irony of being a sleeping partner if one is in fact deprived of sleep to the point of insanity.  I mean, are you still reading.  Clearly nuts right?!  Such is the fate of the parent.  Kids take it all, whether you are giving it or not (apart from my chocolate digestives, which I guard closely and only expose to the air when I am damn sure that no snotty nose is near enough to smell the wheat or hear the rustle of the annoyingly crackly packaging.  Can't they make those wrappers less 'are you scoffing biscuits behind the cupboard door again mummy'?!).

Now stop having a go and listen up.

Looking at fashion whilst thinking grocery run is missing the point entirely.  And in terms of vegetable, animal or mineral, viscose mix thermals from Spazda are most definitely vegetable.  Yes, many of us do spend an inordinate amount of time and money peacocking but we are mostly in the real world (I did exit this world and briefly forrayed in the just-standing-looking-fine world but the Others spotted I was a fake quite early on; when I openly declared that spending a grand on a bag as abhorrant the decline of the credibility of my credentials began) where shoes are for covering mileage, preferably without bleedin' blisters or bunion bashing, and being able to plinky plonk the remains of the day, after violent finger paint assaults and leaking breastfeeding boobs, in the washing machine at a forty cycle is 'je van het' (It's so de rigeur to throw tidbits of French in the mix but how often do you see Flemish?!  'Je van het' means shit hot, and that's what being Flemish basically is, especially in the creative sense).

Now, finally, to the very short point.

Without naming any names, there are two teams on the designer playing field.  One on side of the pitch the grass is even and manicured like a petanque lawn.  Here reside the commercial team.  The only boundaries they break are financial ones.  They didn't invent the wheel but they did build a Mercedes or Fiat around it.  It is quite an achievement to predict what your clientelle want as well as luring new virgin blood to your safe merchandise. The game is about making wantable stuff and therefore selling.  These vampires build empires and suck the life of goodness.

On the other, muddier side of the pitch, are the artists. No, you can't wear this to the school nativity play, or even to a wedding.  It's not made for you.  It is put out there as a whisper or a shout, a notion, a moment, a chord or blue note.  You can't capture it in the same way.  This doesn't mean these guys are anti-money-making.  Without it it they don't exist, but it is predominantly about a vision.  Being true.

And that, my British chums, is the difference between Take That 'crap' (you didn't think I actually cared to occupy my precious brain space with TT songs now did you?) and Aphex Twin's 'Windowlicker', Jack Vettriano's 'The Singing Butler' (god forgive me for giving this man air time) and Matthew Barney's 'Cremaster Cycle', Disney's 'Alice in Wonderland' and Jan Svankmajer's 'Alice'.  You might not 'get it', physically or mentally, but therin lies the beauty, if not the point entirely

Because, quite frankly, window licking is the closest I get to shopping these days

The Cremaster Cycle makes for challenging viewing, both the cruelty and the beauty make me cry, the creepiness makes me shiver, some of it churns my stomach and makes me tense, it gets to me on every level 

I saw this gem when I was ten.  I don't think my mum realised what she had agreed to.  Nor did I

And now off to bed.  I could have spent the last 2 hours sleeping.  A rare treat!

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