Photo of the Week #1

Following Charlotte's impressive new initiative to provide some semblance of organization in this blog and follow a theme, I too would like to present my new theme. Yes, like the middle child striving to receive attention, I am going to wave about my accomplishments in the hope that you will acknowledge and perhaps even...love...me?

Seeing as that got weird (only two sentences in, doing well), let's move on. In deciding this theme I wanted to present something edgy, sexy, avant-garde, something that will make you re-think the words "hobby blog." Okay, I clearly haven't written a blog in a while because every time I start a sentence I end up taking it in the most ridiculous direction I can think of instead of actually building upon the content of this entry.

Let's try that again.

In deciding this theme, I wanted to echo the creative simplicity of Charlotte's clothing theme and pick something that is accessible to everyone but also has many different sides to it that can be explored. I also wanted to pick something I am more interested in as a hobby, rather than writing about something to do with animals (which I did all summer and could easily continue doing, but let's strive for some diversity here). So considering those criteria, I decided that I will try to keep my new photography hobby alive and do a Photo of the Week entry! (Click here to experience the proper level of celebration)

I only just acquired my very exciting new life partner, the Fujifilm X-A1 (shout-out to my homie Al for helping me find this bad boy!), two weeks ago, so I will preface my new initiative with the warning that you will not be impressed. I mean, you may be impressed with the ree-donk-ulous image quality that this dope little device creates, but beyond that the photographic prowess will be minimal, nay, absent. We can only hope that I will do this thing called "learning" along the way and actually improve, but since I can imagine that within a few weeks this Photo of the Week thing is going to end up with me going oh shit on Friday evening and taking a picture of my cat for you guys, let's not be too optimistic.

And with that rousing endorsement, let the fun begin! With the First. (BOOM) Photo. (POW) Of Theeeeeee Week! (applause, cheering, a charismatic host with perfectly coiffed hair enters, struts across the stage and leans casually on a podium; in case you want a visual, I am imagining Johnny Bravo's face with the red flared suit of Ron Burgundy)

Well Groomed Host: Welcome, welcome! Haha! Welcome to the very first edition of Photo (BOOM) Of (POW) The Week. I'm so glad you've joined me tonight - except you, guy in the front row (laughter) - haha but seriously. I'm so glad you've joined me tonight to experience this special moment in blogging history. Blogging history?

to stage left: I thought this was a reality TV show...uh huh...yeah...weird author...I see...yes...questionable mental state...hm...that makes sense...

Ohhh ho ho KAY folks! Sorry about that little aside, you know how it is in show biz, things happening on the fly! As I was saying our show tonight is going to include some of the most bombastic new photography on the market, courtesy of our resident photographer and easily distracted writer, Sarah Nason!

(applause, I enter via triple front handspring and land on top of the podium, then do that thing gymnasts do where they stick the landing and then hold their arms up like WHAT NOW)

WGH: What an entrance! You sure know how to grab a room's attention, Ms. Nason.

Me: Well thank you Mr. Host, I do what I can. (I casually descend from the podium and amicably put one arm around WGH's shoulders) Must have somehow learned a thing or two along the way, being an Olympic ranked gymnast for three seasons haha! (laughter)

WGH: So humble! Now, the producers tell me you have something special in store for us today. What's the scuttlebud?

Me: I'm so glad you asked exactly that question, Mr. Host. Mainly because I love the word scuttlebud. Indeed I have quite the treat for you all. All of you out in the audience, how are you FEELING tonight?!

(mild self-conscious cheers)

Me: I saaaaaaaaiiiiiid HOW. ARE. YOU. FEELING toniiiiiiiiight?!??!

(audience screams fervently because they do not want to be asked again)

Me: All RIGHTY then! I think we're ready to see something. 

WGH: Fantastic! What have you got for us tonight? (we each sit on a plush talk-show-y chair; he crosses his legs and leans in earnestly)

Me: Well. I hope you're all ready for something that's gonna blow your socks right off. My first piece that I would like to present to you is entitled "Obstructions II."

WGH: Interesting, starting with "II." What happened to one?

Me: In this series everything starts at two. Because the first time you try something, it's never going to be perfect. People who submit first versions of things are really just saying "hey, I'm lazy."

WGH: Deep, deep. Well, let's see this piece!

Me: Absolutely. Charlotte?

(Charlotte wheels a large, rectangular display currently concealed by a dramatic black curtain onstage and leaves the stage immediately, not even glancing at the audience; she appears to be in a rush to do something more important than indulging a fake talk show and checks her watch as she disappears offstage)

Me: Let's all give her a thank you! (audience applauds; holding a hand up to make it appear that I am whispering, yet still speaking at a significant volume:) She needed some work, poor thing. Keeping her chin up though.

WGH: (ignoring the clearly false comment) Would you like to do the honours Ms. Nason?

Me: You're too kind! (I walk confidently to the curtain and make a big to-do of gesturing at it in a model-presents-sports-car kind of fashion; after milking this beyond the point that it is at all funny, I whisk the curtain off the display to reveal...)

(the crowd applauds politely)

WGH: Is that...an awkwardly sumptuous photo of your cat?

Me: Correct.

WGH: ...cool.

Thoughts on Clothes: A Woman I Saw on the Train Once

So earlier this week I heard an interview with the authors of a book called Women in Clothes. It's about women's clothing, as it may not surprise you to learn, but not exactly the clothes themselves. The authors surveyed hundreds of women about how they choose what to wear and the reasons that drive their choices. Basically, it's a 500 page long conversation about fashion and identity.
Beyond the first overwhelming "I need to read this!" (and I do have it on hold at the library and am so ready to ignore my academic responsibilities in order to read it), the interview made me realize what a great topic clothing-related stories are. At least for me, the sort of girl who can tell you what she's wearing every day for the next week. Clothing takes up more space in my brain and my closet than I would perhaps care to admit, but I'd never really thought about writing about it much.
And so, I am this fine sunny Sunday debuting a new (and probably soon-to-be-neglected) series of blogs on a clothing related theme. The idea is just to tell stories that revolve around fashion, whether it's a story about something I have lurking in my closet, something I almost bought, or (as it is today) someone I once saw and whose clothes I won't soon forget. Explanation done!


If you've ever been to France, you'll know that the stories of French women and their sense of style are not exaggerated. I spent four months studying at a university in France and at the international students' orientation, one of the women talking about cross-cultural differences said to us, "I know, even just looking at some of you now, that people in the street can tell that you're not French by what you're wearing." For the French, I think the idea that you would put some effort into your appearance before going out into public space is pretty much just basic manners. Which seems lovely to me - but then respectability is just the baseline. Even if you, like me, consider yourself a reasonably well-put-together kind of gal, you simply cannot live up to the women striding confidently through Paris-Nord on six-inch heels.

Given all this, maybe you'll understand why I felt just a little bit sad to be in Paris as a weekend tourist with a large and violently pink backpack and scruffy Converse. Someday, I swear, I will live in Paris for a month or  two and I will be able to walk the streets in beautiful shoes and a long glamourous coat. But alas, that is yet to happen.

Do you see what I mean about that violently pink backpack?

If I couldn't be a paragon of fashion, however, I at least did get to gawp about at everyone else's clothes and ponder the joys of a city where people think carefully about what they wear.

I had just arrived in the afore-mentioned Paris-Nord train station on an early morning express train from Lille (the city where I was studying) and had hazily and haphazardly managed to manoeuvre the automatic ticket machines into spitting a slip of paper at me to allow me to take the regional express train into Paris proper. Down, down, down the grimy steps onto the dark and vaguely sketchy platform I went with my fluorescent backpack and my ratty shoes. (Why do the French care so much about appearances of people but so much less about the appearance of their cityscapes? Paris may be beautiful, but its public transit is definitely not...)

OK, so maybe not all Parisian public transport is ugly...

Before I had the chance to become too paranoid on the dingy platform (I was travelling alone), the appropriate train did arrive, in all its shabby glory. I stepped through the battered metal doors into the fluorescent light of a train car furnished with peeling advertisements and seats with heavily abused upholstery and sat down across from a tall, dark-skinned woman wearing one of the more fabulous outfits I have ever seen in my life.

She sat there, surrounded by the intense ugliness of the train, with her head wrapped in a emerald green silk turban, wearing a matching emerald green floor length dress. Gold hoop earrings, several gold necklaces and an emerald ring rounded out the look. She wasn't young. She wasn't old. She looked like she could have stepped out of Diagon Alley. She looked perfect. I had arrived in Paris.

The fact that I can remember this woman I don't know, who I saw once on a Paris train is entirely down to her clothing and my appreciation of it. Seeing this woman and her green magnificence brought the first hint on that particular trip of the sense of enchantment I feel when I'm in Paris. Her clothing reassured me that I had made the right choice to come alone to that big old city despite my little fears and it just flat out made me happy. For me, the memory of the woman I saw on the train in Paris is an illustration of the power of clothing to light up even dull grimy spaces, even dingy Parisian public transport.

Maybe that's not a deep story. But it's a start of what I hope will be more stories to come about red high heels, wool sweaters, men's scarves and all the other wonderful bits of fabric, leather and metal we drape around ourselves.

Smiling 'cause she's so stylish,
Charlotte