I, for all my inner yearnings, have not an iota of Artsy Cousin in my personal style. Oh, occasionally I think about it. I consider what it must be like to throw together a creative outfit, possessed of je ne sais quoi, dripping panache. But therein do not lie my talents. I’m better at the appropriate. The luxurious. And comfortable shoes.
The closest I ever came involved a cultural imperative. Otherwise known as the teen years. It was 1972ish. We were post-hippies. We had been too young to March on Washington, too young for any Summer of Love unless it was the Monkees we were loving. That didn’t stop us from buying Mexican maxi-dresses. We had long hair. And worried about boys. What else is new?
I’m not sure I ever wore mine. I think it I put it on once. Maybe twice. But I do not believe that I ever left the house. My acts of bravery reserved for other areas. Making today the first time this dress has ever seen the light of, well, virtual day. I don’t know if I kept it because I love the periwinkle blue color, or because I love the idea of myself with a wreath of flowers in my hair, muddy feet, arms outstretched. Never happened, of course.
*This dress resembles Slynnro’s header, no?