Friday, 8th March
Here I am, one year later, wearing the same skirt that I wore last year, on the very same 8th of March. It’s a long skirt with small blue flowers, to which I added an oversized shabby mustard sweater and an oversized scruffed tweed thing which passes on as a jacket, dating back to the eighties. Obviously, completed by these snake print wedges and the omnipresent rat-grey bag in which I squeeze a lot of things, but apparently still not enough to get me through the day. And a few strategically placed bangles and rings, which can’t predict anything good. Particularly because I don’t have but a few of those – I wasn’t that much into huge ridiculous cuffs or crappy rings before. Which is subject to change, just like all things must be.
So, there’s the bigger picture: I am looking sloppy, negligent and careless, packed in voluminous layers, resembling a bad version of my former troubled teenage self – which was most likely to have a hangover and read Poe in a dark coffee shop, on a day like this. Luckily enough, I don’t read in coffee shops anymore. Anyway, back to our descriptive bore. In fashion terms, this would pass on as grunge-y, maybe a tad on the sweet side, if you’d like – no dark colors, ok? A spit of raw sugar over a thick coat of sore ash. I hadn’t had a clue what day it was until I got to work. And then I realized, after an awkward encounter with my colleagues’ greetings and pretty flowers (and a bunch of less opportune slices of cake, shortly afterwards), that I really, really would have wanted to dress differently.
What’s worse, I wasn’t thinking about anything trashier, actually. Yes, two or three years ago, I would have dressed like a man on my gender’s birthday. That’s how fond I am of it. But I am not one bit more enthralled with the ‘opposite sex’, so maybe I could have just put on a fox suit and avoid ambiguity altogether. Instead, today I wished I had wrapped myself in a pretty dress with a puffed skirt, anything red or pink or floral, and put on lace-trimmed socks and my ever-smiling sandals. And the sun would have been perfect for that, and my smile would have come as natural.
I was moody and dreaming my way out of my real cuffs. I cursed the cake I ate today, the one that I ate yesterday, and the other 5 slices I had eaten a day before that. Actually, I cared less about those first 5. It was my daughter’s birthday and her chocolate cake was truly delicious. But I did care about everything else. I regretted not having dressed pretty, the very least. Not like a woman – I’m still in growing pains, however differently anyone else might see me. I didn’t regret my complete lack of celebration either, quite the contrary. If anything, walking with a bag of flowers in my arms brought me to feeling a bit sympathetic to my ever-busy social solitude. Any conforming celebratory demeanor would have been superfluous and downright annoying. But it was just not a good day for a girl to feel sloppy and sorry for herself. Anything more than the minute nothing would have been good enough. A bit of pride, a touch of self-adornment. A slice of sugar and spice.
Wearing Nissa dress courtesy of TinaR, Zara T-shirt & denim jacket, Asos wedge boots
Monday, 11th March
However, there is a ‘however’ I’m infinitely grateful for. For instance, wearing a sequined dress at work, in the middle of a rainy awfully wonderful nostalgic Wednesday. The day that I walked through the soaking wet park, in the morning, and entered the office just as wet as I would have been, had I taken a shower 5 minutes prior. Wet and tussled, wearing this sequined dress with a denim jacket and a fur-collar coat thrown on top of all that. And a beanie which I had to crush the water from and let to dry on the heater. And the same damn wedges, and the same tired and indulgent gratification which seems to drive me ahead nowadays. One step forward, two steps back. Two steps ahead, one step back. It’s mildly monotone.
A few months ago, when mornings were still warm and friendly, though not exactly over-excited with the imminent rainy mid-November showers, I wore a cotton-candy pink voile floor-length vintage dress, with a huge skirt bearing breezy ruffles and also with a ruffle-rich bust and bouffant half-sleeves. I also wore an electric blue jacket over it, cinched at the waist, and the highest of my flatform shoes. Halfway to work, I stepped out of the crowded tram and walked from there, though I was obviously late already. Being late is my way of being in this world, as I’ve recently discovered. But more about that, perhaps later. It paid off, seeing a confused princess stumbling into pink waves, every time I looked aside in the stained flash of the shopfronts. I did feel like a princess, at least a little. Then, for a moment, I winced, and got back on track with an overload of hubris overlooking my insecure promenade.
Of course, there’s always an occasion to overdress. I’m just getting to learn how to pull the threads of it. Lavishness and sequins, drama and long chiffon trains which should be brooming the dust on the poorest of streets – these are just wrongfully placed in sore evenings of flashy dullness. Let them shine in your most random of days, in days when you feel like stepping out of your own life and borrowing someone else’s, in those dark days when there’s nothing to wear and nothing to live for. Put on a beaded silk dress and a casual blazer, wrap yourself with a cotton scarf and do something new and risky to your hair. Smudge your lips with dark lipstick and smile like you would if it were Friday and you went out for cocktails and smart talk with drunk pals wearing reassuringly stereotypical clothes. That’s just the decent thing to get you through a hopeless Wednesday. When you’re literally glittering, you ask yourself whether a burden wouldn’t have to suddenly feel lighter. And it does.
For the record, it’s already turned Monday and I’m late with the post, as I’ve been extremely busy with procrastination and cake-eating, and I’m wearing a turquoise sequined sleeveless top. It feels like a shiny tranquiliser. I think tomorrow I’ll be having velvet.
* Photos by the lovely Maria Cristiana
And now, I’m taking off to the land of the mother tongue, ’cause I’ve spared a great surprise for Romanian readers.
Probabil că multe dintre voi își amintesc de magazinele TinaR, în care găseam haine care rezonau cu moda perioadei respective, dar mai ales cu bunul gust și grația de care aveam atâta nevoie, în acei ani ’90-2000, măcinați de confuzie vestimentară și de dorința de a ne îmbrăca (mai) bine. Aveam în jur de 13-14 ani când am intrat prima dată într-un magazin TinaR, înainte să știu măcar de Zara, H&M sau alte branduri care acum fac parte din vocabularul nostru comun de shopping.
Din ianuarie 2012, când am avut surpriza nesperată de a fi invitată să particip la programul bloggerilor susținut de TinaR, și până acum, brandul a crescut într-un ritm incredibil – de la cele câteva zeci de modele de rochii de anul trecut, la cele câteva sute de modele, de la producători români, francezi sau polonezi, pe care le puteți găsi acum în magazinul online TinaR. Ca să fiu sinceră, nu mi-a fost ușor să aleg doar o rochie. Măcar am știut ce vreau, de la început: o rochie de ocazie, decadentă și puternică, genul de rochie pe care o ții minte ani întregi și pe care o păstrezi în dulap ca pe un obiect prețios al unor vremuri care, vrem sau nu, trec și lasă în spate un car de nostalgie.
Dar iar m-am pierdut un pic în detalii. Iată unde am vrut să ajung:
La început de primăvară, TinaR oferă un cadou pe care îl poate accesa oricine! Utilizând codul promoțional FRUMU, la orice comandă de cel puțin 50 RON făcută în magazinul online TinaR, beneficiați de o reducere de 10% din valoarea comenzii. Voucherul e valabil până la sfârșitul lunii martie, așa că vă doresc să umpleți, cât mai repede, coșul de cumpărături cu haine care vă pot face viața mai plăcută. Eu, personal, mă trezesc mult mai bine dispusă când mă așteaptă o rochie frumoasă pe umeraș.