The Lady of the Pink City

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I first remember reading about Gayatri Devi in 7th grade in a profile of her in Departure Magazine. She was the embodiment of everything that a young girl imagines a princess to be. She was beautiful and refined yet not completely tangible. It was almost as if she was ethereal somehow, leading a life that has long since rusted away in fairy tale books, unable to be fully captured through a story or a picture. They say that her wealth was "beyond imaginable" with a childhood filled with exotic adventures. According to a New York Times article, Devi shot her first panther when she 12, had a flock of trained parrots that could ride bicycles and pet turtles that had emerald encrusted shells.

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Despite her lavish life, which included shopping sprees at Harrods, Devi was not resented by the public for her extreme wealth and beauty. Unlike Queen Marie Antoinette and the Duchess of Devonshire who were ridiculed by there subjects for their ostentatious nature Devi symbolized a beacon of hope for women of lower castes. She created a school for young girls in Jaipur that focused on eradicating the traditional notion that girls should be uneducated and take purdah. Devi led the life of a traditional princess yet reached her hand out to get a firmer grasp in her surroundings. She was elected in Parliament 3 times and spend 5 months in jail.

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People often said that Devi was memorizing. With her French perfume and shimmering saris Devi was a socialite, splitting time between New York, London and Jaipur and entertaining the likes of Jackie O. Vogue voted her one of the top ten most beautiful women in the world. Yet this beauty was just as closely associated with Devi as it was with her city of Jaipur. And to me that is what is really alluring about Devi, her city. With it's beautiful palaces and ornate jewelry it seems like anyone could be a princess there, that everyone could live in a state of opulence. An opulence not defined by designer handbags but by a rich history. In Jaipur it seems that one gets a feeling of magnificence, a feeling that one cannot receive in a Waldorf Historia. It is a feeling of a culture, of a life that is hanging somewhere between obscelence and modernity. When Maharani Devi left our world a few days she left with us a city that is the one of the last of its kind, quite like Devi herself .

The Three Little Myths

Greek Mythology will forever be ingrained in the brain of my sixth grade self. Yet my memories of Zeus and Athena need not be confined to the company of Junior High Dances and unsightly teeth misalignments. Greek myths focus on gods and goddesses. These fabled illusions of perfection that graced the pages of our Language Arts textbooks have also found their way into our everyday life. For don't we all create idealized conceptions of normalcy, of our ourselves even? Most people don't want to completely change themselves, they just want to be a more enhanced, flawless, barely recognizable version of themselves. It seems that, sartorially speaking, our world at large has created three myths of perfection. These myths are the individuals we wish we could be. These myths are broken down into 3 distinct categories one of which most of the female population identifies and/or envies. According to our specified tastes we choose one of these ethereal figures to clandestinely and unconsciously model ourselves after. It's like asking yourselves what's your favorite ice cream flavor is. So what flavor of myth are you?

1. The Whimsical Quirksters: The object of envy for the free spirited among us. These creatures of whimsy seem to have been dressed by little birds in the morning. They attract envy for their dresses that seem to float away from them, their hair that is perfectly windblown and their cheeks that suggest that they have just been running through a field of flowers five minutes before. Not as cliched as the infamous bohemian, quirksters have a life filled with thrift shopping, organic food and usually some niffty hobby life photography or indie folk music. Ah if only all of us could be like Zooey Zeschanel.

2. The Night Life Kids: An abundance of tight rompers, leather pants and generally anything from Alexander Wang seem to be synonymous with these rebels without a cause. These individuals are the ones that every buttoned up librarian type secretly wants to be. A look perfected by models, a la Kate Moss, this look just seems to be simply put, cool. I mean how else could black eyeshadow, unkempt hair and under eye circles (especially under club lighting) look so good?

3. The Sophisticated Urbanites: With their meticulously coiffed hair, refined clothing and extensive knowledge of art, music and food these mythological creatures can be a bit awe inspiring if not intimidating. You may witness them at a wine tasting, a gallery opening, or in some erudite conversation about foreign cheeses but they always seem to unruffled and polished. To put in more complex terms, they have their stuff together, a stark contrast to that broccoli cheddar stain on your sweater. I guess you missed a spot.

And we all thought Athena was the pinnacle of perfection.

The Secret Life of a Cross Dresser

They say the first step in fixing a problem is admitting that you have one. Well I guess it's my time to check into sartorial rehab. I think my epiphany began when I began to reflect on the age old question: Who is your style icon? Most normal people rattle off the usual list of suspects from Coco Chanel, to Audrey Hepburn to Marie Antoinette. My list starts off a bit differently, well it starts off with men. It all began very unassumingly. My dad is a very well dressed man and as any normal person I admired his style. But this innocent admiration manifested itself into a strange mania. All of sudden I did not just appreciate a man's clothing in the abstract way you admire your cat's cute little ears. It was like I wanted to wear the cat's cute little ears. I started not only appreciating the way a man dresses but also coveting some of the pieces he was wearing. It all started on one late night.

I began sneaking into my basement late at night and looting through my Father's clothes (they all won't fit in his closet). I would secretly bring them upstairs to my room and try them all on all while blasting the Arctic Monkey's and MGMT. I started wearing his sweaters to school with tights and ankle boots, wearing his cardigans over dresses, belting his knits to make blouses. People started curiously asking me which store I had acquired all these pieces. When I told them the truth they would look surprised. It gave me a rush, wearing clothes so unassuming yet irreverent. And the most glorious part of it all was that I never had to pay for any of these clothes, it was going to the mall and picking out whatever your heart's desire for free! Say what you want about shoplifting but Winona, I know where your coming from. But alas, admitting that you have a problem is not the end, it is only the beginning. In order to complete my twelve step program I had to ask myself: Why?

I approached this problem by delving into the cross dressing archives. I was surprised by how common it is in today's society. I mean Mulan dressed up as a man, granted it was because she wanted to save her ailing father from injury but still I bet she enjoyed those masculine army getups. I can almost feel the shoulder pads. And besides how else would she have scored such a hunk like Li Shang without dipping her foot in the Today Man's Pool? From Portia dressing up as man in the Merchant of Venice to Bug's Bunny throwing on a dress for comedic sake, cross dressing is everywhere. I think the appeal of dressing in men's clothes is the nonrestrictive nature of it all. Men's clothing are meant to be meant to be active, they are meant to be lived in. You see guy's all the time walking around with rolled up sleeves and their shirts untucked. So many women envy the looks that are effortless, they may not realize that these looks may just be in closet down the hall. But I think the main reason why I am attracted to men's clothing is because unlike women men don't dress for other men or for their girlfriends they dress for comfort, for practicality and for themselves. And I think men's clothing and cross dressing general embody that message: Dress for yourself. I'm starting to see the saying "Life's a Drag" in a whole new light.
Photo Credit: Sillysidilly.wordpress.com

Forget Timeless, It's All About Timefull Dressing

Usually when I think of leather jackets images of Hell's Angels come racing through my mind's archive of sartorial references. And I usually have to resist the temptation to make a joke about Fonzie. Considering the fact that I've never been coordinated enough to ride a bike much less a motorcycle, leather jackets have never really found a place in my wardrobe ideology. And truth be told, I've always preferred Potsie over "The Fonz" anyway. But for the past couple of months I've been seeing leather jackets and more over what they stand for in a whole new retail therapy induced light.
I used to be wooed by the impression that all girls were princesses and the fairy tale way of dressing, the bows, the frills and the ruffles ect. Blame it on watching Cinderella one too many times. I have not abandoned my pre-adolescent beliefs but more over have transmuted them into something more tangible, something more relevant to the landscape of our times. I guess the princess getup doesn't appeal to me quite as much anymore because I think its time for us to dress stronger, to dress in a way that does not drip of overt femininity. So lately when I look in my closet I have a strong urge to ease up on the lace and pile on the leather. I am fully aware that its quite ridiculous to wax on and off about a leather jacket but I guess that's what clothes are supposed to do right?
They are supposed to provide insight. I know people would argue that clothes are supposed to provide a fantasy and dressing like your running though a field of flowers provides that escape. It is true that clothes are supposed to provide a fantasy, but one that is relevant to our times. They are supposed to intensify us, makes us a more concentrated version of ourselves so we do not slip away from reality but become a more fortified fixture in it. So despite my dislike of Fonzie, I guess the reason why leather jackets appeal to me is because they makes us feel more powerful and able to face the trying times, not just the Happy Days.

Better than your Lover

He’s better than your lover, more insightful than your psychologist and a clairvoyant whose talents exceeds those of your pedestrian psychic. He’s knows what you lust for, what vulnerabilities you hide in the deception of your limbs and what your thinking, what you want even before you do. He can be none other than your sartorial soul mate, also known as your favorite designer. Alber Elbaz certainly knows what I want before I do because my wants always seems to be sauntering down his runway. His Fall 09 collection was elegant with something almost industrial about it. Almost as if he had weaved something savage in the lining of the dresses. In my opinion it’s just what our recession needs: investment pieces that have a touch of a mechanized strength. His biased cuts seems to embrace the body, protecting them from brutalities while the luscious materials leave them with a bit of vulnerability. Now tell me what lover/psychologist/psychic can do that?

It's Wang's World (We're just living in it)

I find it quite interesting that in Kingdom of Hollywood we have “It girls” yet in the realm of Sartorial operations we have “It Boys.” We all remember the era of Marc Jacobs followed by performances from Zac Posen and Proenza Schouler. Yet now that these designers have graduated from student to teacher it’s Alexander Wang that’s filling their place. Which is why my mild obsession with Alexander Wang’s new diffusion line is so understandable, if not justified. It’s street chic, loose and effortless aesthetic speaks to the urbanite in all of us (even if we do live in suburbia). I mean how can you not feel a bit dangerous wearing something like this:

Let's just hope "It boy" ensembles don't make me pull a Lindsay and start dancing on tabletops.