non-fashion
t-shirts seen on young, seriously cool (attitude-wise) passerby:
DEATH
POT IS A REALITY KICK
I LIKE SLEEPING OUTSIDE
TAKE TIME BY THE FORELOCK
FAT CAMP STANCE
in fact, the attitude is slowly suffocating me, but i'm getting used to the lack of oxygen. a fashion quirk i do not do not DO NOT GET – and maybe i just don't read enough vogue – is the black ankle socks with heels. with a skirt! some younger women even wear black knee-high stockings with their little no-back kitten heels with the skirts. you can see swaths of bare leg between the pinchy black band of the knee-high and the hem of the miniskirt! it is hideous, and in a city so image-obsessed and excruciatingly attentive to the details of fashion, i cannot understand the many WHYs of this equation.
but i do get some gusts of fresh air once in a while, enough to keep my brain functioning. and oddly, they tend to come from the anachronistic. in one day last week as i criss-crossed the city (inefficiently maxing out a US$9 metro pass just in that one day), several people on the train restored my perspective on style. first there was a tallish teenager who stepped into the train holding a traditional bow upright, all six feet of it, and dressed in a white wrap shirt and wide-legged indigo archery trousers that are essentially a floor-length skirt. the getup looks surprisingly masculine, especially when the guy isn't wearing a punky sneer but a modest zen-like expression.
two rikishi (sumo wrestlers in training) clopped into my train in wooden sandals, tall and imposing, with their hair in oiled topknots and dressed in blue-and-white yukata (summer cotton kimono). everyone continued their busy emailing on their phones or chatting with their friends or whatever, but we all watched as the rikishi walk in, talking in low voices and making their way to the other end of the car.
towards the end of the day and its rush-hour train station craziness, enter the requisite dignified middle-aged woman dressed in an expensive kimono in layers of lilac and gray silk shot through with silver. her obi probably weighed as much as a large baby. her dress was also complemented by her complete lack of haughtiness and instead, attitude of gentle confidence and grace. i bet she makes a mean cup of green tea.
DEATH
POT IS A REALITY KICK
I LIKE SLEEPING OUTSIDE
TAKE TIME BY THE FORELOCK
FAT CAMP STANCE
in fact, the attitude is slowly suffocating me, but i'm getting used to the lack of oxygen. a fashion quirk i do not do not DO NOT GET – and maybe i just don't read enough vogue – is the black ankle socks with heels. with a skirt! some younger women even wear black knee-high stockings with their little no-back kitten heels with the skirts. you can see swaths of bare leg between the pinchy black band of the knee-high and the hem of the miniskirt! it is hideous, and in a city so image-obsessed and excruciatingly attentive to the details of fashion, i cannot understand the many WHYs of this equation.
but i do get some gusts of fresh air once in a while, enough to keep my brain functioning. and oddly, they tend to come from the anachronistic. in one day last week as i criss-crossed the city (inefficiently maxing out a US$9 metro pass just in that one day), several people on the train restored my perspective on style. first there was a tallish teenager who stepped into the train holding a traditional bow upright, all six feet of it, and dressed in a white wrap shirt and wide-legged indigo archery trousers that are essentially a floor-length skirt. the getup looks surprisingly masculine, especially when the guy isn't wearing a punky sneer but a modest zen-like expression.
two rikishi (sumo wrestlers in training) clopped into my train in wooden sandals, tall and imposing, with their hair in oiled topknots and dressed in blue-and-white yukata (summer cotton kimono). everyone continued their busy emailing on their phones or chatting with their friends or whatever, but we all watched as the rikishi walk in, talking in low voices and making their way to the other end of the car.
towards the end of the day and its rush-hour train station craziness, enter the requisite dignified middle-aged woman dressed in an expensive kimono in layers of lilac and gray silk shot through with silver. her obi probably weighed as much as a large baby. her dress was also complemented by her complete lack of haughtiness and instead, attitude of gentle confidence and grace. i bet she makes a mean cup of green tea.
posted by a wandering eye at 1:04 PM
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