Oh, dear Gods I love my hair. I can't stop playing with it and looking at myself in the mirror. Wry grin and all; it's sheer vanity.
It took ten years to figure out how appearance mated with personality and I can walk out of a haircut with a better sense of the way I take up space. The right to chose how you look is an understated and overtly dramatized concept. If someone was about to hurl a rock through your window, or your face, for wearing skinny jeans how'd you feel about them?
Most people wouldn't wear them but the object itself changes. It's not fabric; it's an idea and a law woven into the denim. It's sexuality. It's always about how much is seen or hidden, or hinted at. There's a kind of power, too. The power to cause a stir when you forget to wear a skirt with leggings or think constantly of the way your stomach sits in them.
The clothes we wear have an affect and an effect.
Kind of cool when you think about your dirty pile of clothes as a dirty pile of statements.
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