Often I find myself thinking: sometimes about life, sometimes about fantasy, sometimes about my future. But lately, the one thought that I can't seem to get off of my mind is the concept of location. Late at night, once a shadow of darkness has painted my room black and the only sounds that seem to be circulating throughout my secluded sanctuary are noises of my mind gently whispering to me, I rest my head full of blonde tresses onto my pillow and evaluate. Frequently, I have been proposing the question, "Meghan, if you could be anywhere in the world, where would you be?" upon myself. Then, as I lay there, staring at the ceiling imagining that I have X-ray vision and can miraculously see right through the roof to catch a glimpse of the constellations, my mind wanders off into some fictional world, almost like an unwritten story book loaded with pictures of palaces, royalty, the world, and divine clothing creations that the supreme fashion god (whoever that may be) has created. And the only words in this book, are adjectives and verbs-no sentence structure, no nouns, no punctuation, just free, unattached words. Once my mind has accessed this parallel brain of mine, I contemplate the question of "Where would I be?"
New York? I ask myself. The city is thriving with interesting people, favorable fashions, beautiful culture, and fascinating history. But no, New York just doesn't cut it.
Then I ask, Paris? It is the fashion capital of the world and the polar opposite of Florida. But still, I always seem to shoot down that location as well.
Japan? It is drenched in cultures that I have never encountered, ranks quite high in uniqueness, and the hardcore street fashion is to die for. Yet, my mind doesn't seem to agree with that idea either.
Suddenly, by some force of nature, I have this sudden realization that if I could be anywhere at all, the only place that I could dream of calling my home would be one of the most divine places to ever exist; in Alexander McQueen's mind (a girl can dream can't she?) Some people say, "I would love to be in *insert name here*'s mind for ten minutes." But no, I would love to eternally live in this man's mind. To be in the middle of the darkness, fantasy, imagination, and emotions his brain conjurers, well it would be indescribable, so therefore I am not going to even say any adjectives because I know that they do not have the ability to measure up to him, and will essentially seem childlike and low-brow, which is something that I do not want.
But honestly, could you envision nuzzling up in that precious little brain of his and calling that HOME? It would be very unproductive I imagine. I know all I would do is just cuddle up in a pile of his bumsters and impeccably tailored dresses from the McQueen archives while munching on popcorn, basking in the glory of each design idea that would pour into his brain. I also believe it would get rather cluttered in there, but I would gladly roll into a little ball, almost like some tiny creature and just plant myself into the smallest nook and cranny I could find, because let's face it, his ideas are much much more important than I am.
Too bad my imagination is far too big for reality. Maybe Disney could build a new theme park; McQueen's Mind? I would be an avid visitor, or I suppose I could just live there! Ya know, hide in the trash cans while security does their nightly checks? Dear Walt, take it into consideration.
We still miss you McQueen<3
Want to hear a little story? Well I suppose you don't really have a choice now do you? Once upon a time, I was a mini-diva with a blonde bob, a feather boa draped around my neck, and plastic heels confined to my feet. Then there was my brother; the pyromaniac child who would throw those little army green toy soldiers into the family bon fires while enthusiastically chanting "Die, die, die!" And then one day, with the inspiration of my brother (and designer Balmain), I realized that his days of scorching toy soldiers was a superb muse for a very androgynous and marvelous outfit.
For a while, I have been openly addicted to the military trend that consumes every glossy page of magazines the bible. Every time I see a picture of a military inspired editorial, or just a page that I feel is reminiscent of the army, my first instinct is to tear it out and store it in my nightstand drawer for safe-keeping. You should just see how many tear-outs I have stashed in that drawer, it's kind of sickening. It's gotten to the point where it is so bad, that I feel kind of like a pre-pubescent boy hiding nuddie magazines. But back to the military look- it evokes strength, power, dignity, and let's admit it, makes even the daintiest woman, look certifiably bad ass. But I'm not referring to just throwing on a pair of leather boots with any ordinary dress, which just so happens to be another one of my never ending addictions. I'm talking about the full blown military inspired pieces, with the endless army green, the structured jackets, and then comes the leather in any form; boots, leggings, shorts.
For my outfit, I meshed my brother and I's childhood personas, combining his toy soldier state of mind, with my diva-ness, which translated in my opinion, fabulously. I donned a silver sequin dress with an army green mid thigh length jacket, tall leather boots, and then as usual, piled on the over sized rings. I was expecting witty little comments from my classmates about looking like a military Barbie doll, which I would have gladly accepted, but surprisingly, they all responded very well to the look. For some odd reason, all day I sort of felt like a confused gay guy; he knows that he is gay and just wants to frolic around in sequins while dispersing glitter, but for the sake of concealing his true identity, must wear masculine coats and speak in a low tone. Maybe that's why I loved the look so much..I'm not really sure though. All I know is that I am thirsting for some more military staples, the one jacket and leather boots, is just not cutting it!
Dress- Love Culture. Jacket- Forever 21. Boots- Forever 21
Maybe I'm a bit biased, being a former ballerina and all, but I could go on for days talking about how much I admire ballet inspired pieces. I would easily swap my harsh color palette of black, black, and black for the dainty pastel pinks, stone grays, and crisp whites that accompany ballerina influenced items of clothing. Everything about the look just seems so hopelessly romantic, effortless, and whimsical. A woman draped in icy pinks and a touch of tulle just screams to me that she can gracefully conquer the world, and only with a flick of fairy dust and a pirouette or two. Pair this look with a masculine blazer, leather boots, or simply something studded and you've got the perfect mix of pretty gritty. But in all honesty, you could strut around in just a pastel pink lacey blouse, sans pants, and I guarantee you that I would drop to my knees and bow-it's just all around brilliant! Makes me wish that my days of insecurely prancing around in teeny leotards, hours spent at the ballet bar, the permanent dent in my hair from always wearing a slicked back bun, and the bleeding from pointe shoes were still existent. Well enough rambling about memory lane, here's the trend at its finest.
