Fast Fashion Forward

I answered a survey question today that asked if I considered myself to be "fashion-forward". I answered it in the affirmative, since I do indeed think of myself as familiar with fashion trends and styles, both current and passe. I used to spend my time in the hallowed halls of a university after all, and I spent much of my time passing judgement on the hits and misses of the day.

I can only say that I am very, very grateful that shirts are longer now and that my eyeballs are no longer fried 10 times a day by flapping muffin tops.

After I answered that question, I wondered what I thought I meant by saying that I have any kind of savviness when it comes to the human palette. I was clothed after all, in worn jeans and a baggy sweater, and I was without any mascara or other makeup. No lipstick. Red socks and a sports bra.

I like to think that it's the attitude behind the baggy sweater and worn jeans and the red socks: the confidence, the shoulders back, the bright red surreal hair, an air of confidence, warranted or not. So while I'm scarfing down yet another of the myriad little Halloween chocolate bars and feeling these old jeans getting tighter around the hips, I'm feeling good, and thus, I look good.

Fresh Joe
The other night I was parked on the couch here, with my laptop on my lap, and a commercial came on. "Hmph," I thought, "looks like Old Navigator," but no, I was wrong. The catchy jingle, the pretty models dancing around fake white trees, the eye-catching colours and what looked like well-made coats and jackets..."Gap? Maybe, but I don't see any Hollywood starlets dancing around with the rest of the riffraff. And oh those coats are cute. Don't I need a new coat? I should get off this couch right now and do a coat inventory. Perhaps a jacket instead. Or some hats and scarves and gloves and jeans. Yes, I'm sure I need these things but what store is this?"

Not a store, a collection. A collection that's available at a grocery store. Joe Fresh Style has been around for a couple of years, but this year they even did part of Toronto Fashion Week and quite frankly? They are doing it well. Totally, totally affordable. The kid's line is really cute, and right now the girlie colour scheme is all pink and brown, while the boys' stuff is blue camo, a weekend at the cabin inspired. I haven't seen the adult line except online, because in this smaller city where I live the adult line isn't covered. I can drive 25 minutes to go and touch the items that have caught my eye, and that's not such a far distance to go for a shot in my fashion-forward arm.

Dress a Diva, or Choose not to
On Monday nights I watch Project Runway Canada, because my mind has a section that's goopy mush and which requires a daily injection of utterly wasteful television in order to remain in healthy working order. This week they had to build a dress for Measha Brueggergosman, and I think that when she stepped out onto the stage to sing to the would-be designers for two minutes, they were in awe. Her voice is exceptionally powerful, and for people who've never been in the vicinity of an opera singer doing her thing, it can be overwhelming.

Luckily, the designers on PRC have giant egoes, so nothing overwhelms them.

They were given $150 each, they went into a fabric store on Queen West (in Toronto. There are a bunch of excellent fabric stores there, so they could have been in any one of them and my apologies if the store was obvious.) and they were told to spend. That amount of money doesn't buy any gold brocade so it was a lot of flowy chiffon and a lot of fuschia. Why that colour? Did Measha somehow channel bright pink?

Anyway, I was glad to see the snooty 25-year-old from Quebec get the boot, after she blatantly ignored the instructions given to her, and after she created a gown that was not worth putting on a model. Her exiting words, that "they didn't get her style and that's okay," highlighted the fact that her ego had no bounds and that it was clearly getting in the way of her hearing. Really, if you're told flat out, "I go barefoot on stage, but I don't want anyone to see my feet so no short dresses," and then you build a short dress anyway, because clearly the Diva is wrong and needs some re-educating, then you get what you deserve, which was the boot.

I'm not hoping for anyone in particular yet, although some of them are starting to annoy me. I suppose I could learn their names so that I could write a more integrated post on this subject. The truth is, however, that a) I don't care that much and b) the gooey, mushy part of my brain that watches these crazy shows actually doesn't remember what it's seen from one minute to the next. It's not the brightest candle in the grey matter and it needs links. Lots and lots of links.