source Fashion Gone Rogue
Aesthetically speaking, my eye tends to be drawn to the bizarre. I like weird shapes; I'm an anti-classicist, I don't want A line dresses, empire waists, knee length skirts, and I'll never wear a gown to my wedding. I don't like classic pumps I think they're too hard to walk in. I slash t-shirts, cut up hoodies, and fray pants purposely. I can't help but look messy, in fact a lot of times I try to be. I don't feel myself if my hair is perfectly coifed and my tights don't have a single solitary snag in them. My bangs get greasy as I get further away from my shower time, and my nail polish chips as I open bottle after bottle behind the bar. I don't like matching, unless its black. I love showing off my swimmer legs, but constantly shroud my D cup boobs with over-sized tops or snug cleavage abating bodysuits.
For some reason the roller blades in this offbeat editorial reminded me of all of the weird things I do and can't help but do stylistically. Another occasion that reminded me of how exotic I look to some people was Christmas Eve at my boyfriend's house. He comes from a very traditional Italian family all of whom live in small suburban towns, belong to a local church that does that crazy midnight mass shit, and dedicate their Sundays to everything Steelers starting with the preprepre-game show. Their a lovable bunch, a massive group of generations seeped in Pittsburgh/Italian traditions. And while there was nothing inappropriate about my Christmas Eve ensemble (Express Red tube dress, under a black boyfriend blazer, patterned black tights, and 4" heeled black combat boots), I felt, well, exotic in a way that was met with intrigue and not disgust. Open-mindedness, interest, and eyes drawn to my weird shoes. Unbeknownst to me, I was percolating oddness, a fact of which I'm very proud. Maybe for their Memorial Day picnic I'll pay homage to Liya and rock the roller blades. Who knows, I'm just glad his family likes me for me.