Monday, April 30, 2007

I used to roller skate in the driveway, dreaming of the day the Olympic Roller Skating Committee was going to discover me--zoop--gold medal

So, recently, I've become fascinated with fashion blogs. The way others around me (hi, CC) read knitting or food blogs or others (hi, mary, who doesn't read this blog, but I'll say hello anyway) read design blogs.

My number one all time super favorite is The Sartorialist.

The following are a couple of images from his blog (pics link to blog):




































































(I hope he doesn't mind that I've posted his images here, you should check out his blog, really, it's a wonderful sunshine on the day.)



I thought I liked the blog, simply because it shows the various incantations of good style. Like a textbook for what I'd like to be one day. Not that I want to be in any capacity a part of the fashion industry, or that I imagine myself some kind of supermodel (well...) but that I just love clothes and I want to wear them the way they deserve to be worn. I think, most days, I'm at about a 4 on the scale of fashion potential. I could do better and I am hoping the Sartorialist will show me the way.

So on a day when I am wearing what I consider to be a particularly good outfit, I imagine that he will stop me and say "my goodness! nice belt!" and click and zoom, I'll be on the web!

Even as a young, stupid, child, I knew that the possibility of the rollerskating olympic committee knocking on my door was improbable (hey, they were Minnie Mouse rollerskates with pink pom-poms, hence improbable, not impossible, so step off). But a little piece of me believed and that little, stupid, piece of me is still there today.

So on a day like today, when I was wearing an outfit that I very much approved of (yay, me), a part of me thought, hey, I'm blogworthy, and I imagined Scott (The Sartorialist) stopping me on the street. No hope no harm.

But, as I was daydreaming my way down Michigan Avenue, I was also noticing the people around me (go figure) and their exquisitely cut suits. The lines that fell without a hint of a seam being tugged or crinkled. The cuffs that barely peeped out from jacket sleeves. Skirts with hems that fell at the knee, lovely, I say, and scarves, ah, the scarves!

I then realized that the reason I love the Sartorialist is not just the education I am receiving, but the fact that the information is making my world a more beautiful place. Never (never!) before had I noticed the seam on the back of a man's suit jacket. I appreciate the day a bit more, now. Because I can. Because, now, I know to open my eyes and to look.

ta-dee-tah-dum.

No comments: