This is for the woman whose scars hide underneath all those layers.
She holds more pain than the ordinary house wife, girlfriend or side chick.
She’s constantly beaten by him and told she’s worth nothing yet she always seems to stay around.
The clothes on her back hide her story.
They hide the person who yearns to be heard, seen and appreciated and so she drowns herself in too much fabric, too many panel lines and too much make up hoping we all pass her by.
Her language doesn’t speak attention (sexual kind) but it speaks of need and anguish.
Her story hides beneath the bustle of the cars on these tolling roads.
She takes the time each morning to create this ‘plain Jane’ facade not knowing that she could be building a stronger person through those same pieces of fabric.
She could have changed her circumstance into promise just by changing the way her Language of Clothes spoke to the world.
Maybe we would have seen her, taken the time to know her story and try save her from herself.
As much as this blog is about fashion – I am aiming to break down all preconceived notions of what fashion is. Who this hierarchy is and what fashion should be speaking to you and me, the hobo’s of this saturated world.
Clothing, designers, we are in this cut throat industry, we hold a lot of power in the garments we create and interpret for the world. We dictate people’s success, their shame and their wishes yet a simple piece of clothing can be perceived as just a decorative detail.
The family which stays below me seems ‘normal’ I guess but when the sun sets and all is quiet on the streets – you hear doors being slammed, children crying and angry voices.
The wife’s clothing leads me to believe she’s your humble stay-at-home mom but things truly aren’t as they seem. What does her story tell others?
I find it hard to believe that a woman in this day and age, cannot claim back her own power in a simple thing like a shirt or a skirt.
From the time when the androgynous look came into womens fashion, we as females gained another podium on which we could dictate how we wanted the world to view us. We demanded more respect, so we cut the frills out and showed our gender counterparts that we too could be in the driver’s seat.
THE CHANGE WAS DRAMATIC.
A stronger woman, a more confident woman would now be harder to miss.
Her posture begs you to notice her.
Her colour combinations call your eyes on her.
Her smile invites the conversation long before you two have even said “Hello”.
I have defined my sexuality through my clothing. I blur the lines now between what would have been seen as ‘provocative’ to now being applauded for looking sexy, beautiful and adorable.
The fabric, the attention to detail – the presentation of who I am. It no longer lies in what I try to sell you, like an AD CAMPAIGN. Instead, I put the package together in colourful wrapping and ribbons and hope that you take it for what I am trying to tell you, through my Language of my Clothes.