1967

My partner and I watched the movie about the Monterey Pop Festival of 1967. We liked it so much that we rented the dvds with the outtakes: more Janis Joplin, more Jimmy Hendrix, more...crowd shots. Those clothes, that hair, that makeup, those hats! 

Intrigued by the colorful, psychedelic outfits worn by the festival attendees and performers, I am now rereading Trina Robbins memoir, Last Girl Standing, in which she chronicles her life as a cartoonist, but also as a fashion designer among the rock stars. 

Also on my reading list,  Hippie Chic, published by the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, which chronicles the fashion of the 1960s, its origins and various manifestations, from the low of the streets up to the high of designers who opened expensive boutiques. 

Back to the "Monterey Pop" film. It provided evidence that people -- mostly young people in their teens and twenties -- were gathering and getting high, yes, and expressing through their wild colors and assemblage of ethnic garb (ponchos, long robes of various kinds, floppy hats, beads, lots and lots of beads) a desire to live differently. 

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Then, yesterday, as I was walking into town from campus, I ended up behind a student who was wearing serious bell bottoms, as in very wide at the bottom, and, well, a very tight bottom at the top. I took my time looking in detail at those pants, wondering if they were vintage or new. I sensed that they were new (the Free People brand perhaps, where hippie fashion can be bought already assembled). Was her outfit a sign of the times to come? Is another counter culture coming our way? I sure hope so. I am ready for another reality. 

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That film, those books, those images of people wearing wild clothes, long hair, ethnic jewelry, caftans and head bands -- basically watching people escape from their reality frees the current day viewer  into their own escapism, albeit of a different kind. What are we escaping from and why? What is wrong with our reality? The younger generation has always reacted to the evil doings of those in power, whether it be war, corruption, demagoguery or the pitiful state of mother earth. But I am no longer young, yet I am still rebellious. Perhaps what I yearn for is some kind of idealized past, one in which I imagine that people paid less attention to themselves and more attention to their surroundings -- in this case, the amazing sounds coming from the stage. Little did the attendees know that someday, they would have quite the story to tell. To have seen Jimi Hendrix live in concert, among all the other pop, rock and blues bands that performed during those three days must have been a hell of an experience. 

"Post-Fashion"

 What is "post-fashion"? 

A google search yields various results, including a reference to the post-pandemic world in which we hope to be transitioning. Or not. It sounds dismal.

An Amazon search draws me to this title:

The summary is as follows: 

Scholars have argued that postmodernism is dead and that we are entering into a new era that some have labelled altermodernism, digimodernism, performatism, and post-postmodernism. This book expands on the nascent scholarship of post-postmodernism to highlight how dress, fashion, and appearance are reflections of this new age.

The volume starts with a discussion of fashion, subjectivity, and time and an analysis of temporality, technology, and fashion in post-postmodern times. Later chapters analyse the work of design houses and mass producers such as Vetements, Gucci, and Uniqlo whose products align with post-postmodern aesthetics, hyperconsumption, and hypermodern branding. The book looks at diverse geographic and identity markers by discussing post-postmodernism and the religio-politico-cultural questions in South Asian Muslim fashion, image and identity presentation in queer social networking apps, and by exploring fashion designer Tom Ford's output as a movie director. Two chapters discuss the post-postmodern fashion exhibition with analyses of recent exhibitions and an in-depth look at the work of exhibition maker Judith Clark. The final chapter is written by members of The Rational Dress Society, a counter-fashion collective that makes JUMPSUIT, an experimental garment to replace all clothes.

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Why am I thinking about "post-fashion"? Because it's become quite noticeable that fashion a. is irrelevant at this moment (unless you are oblivious to the current global situation) b. has not really come up with anything new or interesting in the last twenty years. 

I say that because photos from fashion magazines of the last twenty years seem interchangeable. I say that because it's time to stop shopping for new clothes and to consume less. 

I am trying to practice what I preach. Only purchase from used sources. Unless it's underwear or tee-shirts. I have my limits. 

I am also transitioning to a no job (post-job?) life which will mean no more pay check and no more benefits. It's a good idea to practice a more humble lifestyle in order to become accustomed to it. 

I have started two volunteer jobs. One is at a non-profit art gallery, the other at a second-hand bookstore. I'm not sure where the "post-job" is heading, both require some adeptness with technology. The gallery job wishes I knew my way around WordPress (I don't, at least not yet). The bookstore requires checking out customers via a computer as well. I am tired of computers (as I type this on one of course). Alas, we are not heading in the direction of a post-computer world. Quite the opposite. 

My computer fatigue seems normal given how much time we have been spending on them lately. I have been vaccinated, and so are my friends in my immediate surroundings. That seems like a concrete change for the better. 

Time to drive another friend to her first shot. 

Bring on the spring!

 This mid-March week has been nicely warm and sunny, a welcome change from cold and cloudy winter. My friend Judith paid me a visit in my studio in White River Junction. We ate lunch at Phnom Penh Kitchen and then did a quick bit of thrifting. She showed up in a lovely color and fabric combo of red, black and tan, she was even bare footed in her shoes. That's a big deal in Vermont in March. 

I picked up this cotton tee-shirt at Revolution. The dress was purchased by a customer who let me photograph her green and mustard acquisition (I wish I had seen her in it, oh well). 

Speaking of multiple uses for things, this old plant pot was perfect for an outdoor ice bucket, with snow scooped up from the yard as I enjoyed a beer in the sunshine. 

Pandemic year 2/New York City

 

I am in New York City hanging out with my mom for a few days. She has been vaccinated twice, while I have to wait as I belong to the last group. The vaccine has become the topic of conversation that we all share whether we are urban or rural. That seems normal given that we are now starting year two of the pandemic. On the subway, I don't even notice the masks anymore. I do notice the cool clothes and the heavy soled combat boots. 

At the New Museum where the exhibit is on mourning and the African American experience, which seems very apt at the moment, I sense that people are taking advantage of their "big" outing to dress up. I notice the windowpane coat. I would love to have one, but I'll just check out the ones I see and enjoy. The light colored windowpane pattern seems perfect for this in-between season. 

Inside the apartment, I find a magazine that features artists who have moved to Upstate New York. What does success look like, I think to myself, as my gaze falls on this photograph of an artist turned sheep farmer. This is what success looks like. Apparently he also has a donkey. I love donkeys. The article states that both his artwork and his animals "receive the same tender care." Oh dear. All I know is that I have a similar denim jacket to the one worn by the artist, that I found in a Brussels by the pound vintage clothing shop. So I have successfully acquired a cool jean jacket in which, if I ever became a sheep farmer, I could pose for a posh magazine. 

Meanwhile, my mother parts with these brand new black suede Birkenstock clogs because she can't walk in them. I will happily walk in them. Thank you mother! That was an unexpected gift, a comfortable, brand new pair of Birkenstocks. 

Walking back to the apartment after a visit to the Strand bookstore, still open, thank goodness, still filled with a bounty of books, still offering a free space in which to browse, I am striding behind a couple. At the corner, waiting to cross the street, I surreptitiously snap a photo of the ever so cool denim pants the woman is wearing. They were swaying so nicely while she was making her way to the corner. The pocket is surrounded by a darker strip of denim, very nice detail. 

And, lastly, I wanted to replace the ugly brown laces on my otherwise comfortable patent leather shoes that still have years or miles in them. In the Village, a tiny cobbler shop (redundant, aren't most cobbler shops "tiny"?) offered choices of many colors. A cobbler. A real cobbler. Someone who mends shoes. What a relief that they still exist. 

Because the shops are suffering more than ever in year 2 of this pandemic. They were already suffering, but now many more have closed their doors, including, much to my surprise, the Fly London shoe store on Bleeker. Those are great shoes, stylish, comfortable, made for walking, which right now is really all we do. So I don't understand why that store did not survive the pandemic. Nor a host of other shoes stores that have also disappeared from Lower Manhattan. I guess people are buying shoes online, I do it from time to time, it's not surprising. What is surprising is that, of all the retail in New York City, shoe stores might hang tight because of the new increase in walking ("in the city everyone's a walker" sing the Brother Brothers, on Folk Radio, streaming). 

At least the cobbler is still there. What a gift! 

Day trip to Portsmouth NH

 

Mid-Winter: New Digs and the "real Paris"

 

So. I have a "studio" now, in an old, converted bakery in White River Junction. For the moment, I still teach (Zoom) from there. When people ask me what I "do," I know that they mean, what kind of art do I practice, or alternative medicine, since those are the occupations held by the majority of the tenants in the building. I sheepishly tell them that I teach French, but that is soon coming to an end. My books are in my studio, and those are supposed to inspire me to write and draw more graphic novels. 

For the time being, I'm just happy to have a space in a funky building. I'm also happy to have a new old coat, acquired at yet another consignment shop that opened in WRJ. It's a men's Woolrich reversible coat. I love the enormous pockets. Why do men's coats have enormous pockets and women's coats have dainty useless ones? Ah, yes, we carry a purse. Still, in the winter it sure is handy to have a quick place to stuff one's hat and mittens, not to mention one's mask when there's a pandemic. 

The day I took that photo, I also happened to be wearing pants, a sweater, and a shirt that were also bought second-hand. The boots were bought new, however, but they're old now too. 

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Meanwhile, my thoughts have turned to popular TV culture and its fascination with Paris. 

Two shows have been foregrounding the city on Netflix: one is great, the other, terrible. One is French, the other American. "Call my Agent" gets the city right. You can tell because it gets the clothes right. Parisian people wear jeans to work, unless they work at an investment bank. And then again, I haven't set foot in one of those in forty years. 

"Emily in Paris" strikes annoyingly false notes everywhere it goes. And the clothes are all wrong. Four-inch heels on cobblestone streets? Off the shoulder dresses and blouses, slits up to here on tight fitting skirts? Absolutely not. The red beret? No comment. 

 "Call my Agent" -- a feminocentric, funny, well-written series about talent agents and the actors that they represent  -- also gets right that Parisians wear the same clothes day after day. Rarely do American series attempt to repeat the same wardrobe on a character. Not only is it realistic, it's also more environmentally friendly. Less dry cleaning and less soap used. 

New Year, old clothes

 Thinking, still, about Stella Tennant, and her unusual beauty. The clothes evoke nature, as she often posed in natural surroundings. 

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Tweed, wool sweaters, floral dresses, simplicity.  

I am wearing a skirt today, in part because it's been a while -- the bottom half of our bodies is not shown much in work contexts these days. Also because it's a hand me down from my mom, I had it altered because the waist was too large, the pockets were still sewn shut. On top, a short sleeved sweater that I picked up at a Housing Works in New York City. The booties are from Revolution in White River Junction. And the turquoise necklace? That came from a Santa Fe shop run by a Basque Hippie. We struck up a conversation that switched to French once he told me that he had studied at the Sorbonne. It was an important birthday for me, so I treated myself to a four strand turquoise bead necklace. I am now becoming a woman "of a certain age."