Wednesday, November 18, 2009  10:16 AM
A tale of two red soles
Exactly one week ago, Denise and I spent a good two hours or so chatting in the Christian Louboutin storeroom as I accompanied her during her press walk-throughs. My first impression was that it looked more like a post office's storage room; the place was exploding with recyclable-brown boxes and similar paper bags. Not one comfort chair was in sight. We spent the day trying out lonely red soles waiting to be worn on the cement floor, and looking up in fascination when the sales assistant rushed in swiping platinum credit cards and chalking up receipts of $3000 at one go.
The experience was nothing like what I expected. I used to walk into Louboutin with fear that someone was going to judge me for what I was wearing, or if I didn't look rich enough. These days, I walk in not caring without what anyone thinks, and I'm done with the mindset that I need to look the part when I window-shop at branded stores. At Louboutin that day, it was nothing special - nothing fluttered in my heart nor a sense of pride that we had a part to play in the prestigious family. The people working at the store were really fun and down-to-earth, and behind all that glamour of advertising and labels, it really is just a shoe store.
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The thing about me is that I've never been one that follows typical fashion trends. I don't really know what next season's big trend is, nor do I read fashion nation or style.com daily to keep myself updated with fashion news. I do know more than the average person perhaps, because I have stacks of magazines piled up waiting me to thumb through in the office, and I like walking into shops to simply observe - but I'm definitely not in the know like some fashionistas are. When it comes to dress sense, I wear what I like and I love rummaging through my wardrobe digging up things from years ago and treating them like brand-new items waiting to be worn. At last month's Topshop fashion party, everyone looked like carbon copies of each other in high-waisted shorts, harem pants, bandage heels or gladiator sandals. I felt like I just walked into a crowd of Topshop minions, and felt slightly out of place. I don't own harem pants or a boyfriend blazer. So what does that really mean? I wonder if I'm dated sometimes; but then again, who sets the standards for these things?
That worries me sometimes, if I want to eventually venture into fashion writing or anything along those lines. Should I be more concerned about the demise of super shoulders and the advent of studs in the months to come?
I still believe a whole lot in personal style though. I admire a person most when she or he defines the things they wear, and not the other way around. It's fun to see someone in something, know that you would probably never wear it but still love what the person is wearing. When the GGs are together, I see four other individual styles - classic, funky, eclectic and sophisticated. It makes very good photos.
In the meantime, two of my favourites from Christian Louboutin's SS10 collection! -
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Monday, November 16, 2009 12:13 AM
Citizen escapism
This felt like a decade ago - My first Disneyland experience, at age 21. I've been thinking about how far escapism can take someone. Disneyland is escapism personified in a place where millions go every year to tear away from the busy clicking of shoes along marbled floors at train stations and dreary rushed lunches where one hour is hardly enough time to hold a decent conversation with anyone. So Walt Disney obviously had that in mind when he created a world "where dreams come true"; every person taken to a place where only the good childhood memories remain in happily ever afters. It's the only place where exorbitant prices are accepted with smiles and people fork out wads of cash for a HK$25 for a Mickey Mouse chocolate ice-cream bar and US$3 for a sugary churro. People stand in line for hours under the hot sun in noisy chatter waiting to get into haunted houses and Peter Pan's world. Others dash off in search of their favourite princesses, two and twenty-year-olds alike, for that one moment captured on film. I did all of the above: had my fair share of ice-creams, churros, candied apples, candy floss and Mickey Mouse shaped burgers; made sure I went on every single ride in the different lands by strategising fast passes and running all over the place and sacrificed the go-kart ride to take pictures with all the princesses. I was very happy that day. It peaked when I stood rooted to the ground, transfixed by the magical blend of fireworks shooting through the pitch-black sky in Hong Kong. I look forward to escape all the time. When I'm upset about something, I rent a hk drama serial or start reading a book and never want to stop doing so as I lose myself in the plots. When I'm reflective and nostalgic, I look through old pictures and think of endings written by me. When I'm bored, I walk into Chanel and YSL and hold the bags against myself and pretend I can really afford them. The only thing I'm looking forward to about the end of this year is Christmas in Hawaii and Japan and knowing that I'll be away from here for awhile. In a place where no one knows me and the unfamiliarity breeds hope in fond memories on a clean slate. But how long can that sustain me; I have no idea. Will there ever come a point where reality is where I really want to be?
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Monday, November 02, 2009 2:56 PM
Turn up the sun
It's pouring outside and I'm actually liking being in the office on a slow, quiet Monday afternoon. Mondays are hardly fun to wake up to, but it was more than made up by the stroll down to ann siang with denise to gloss over the moving out sale at front row during lunch. It was still way too expensive but we smiled at our reflections for two seconds without feeling the pinch in our pockets; her in an eley kishimoto navy blue chiffon dress and me in a wood wood white shift dress.
Today, I started thinking whether I made the right decision. I was thrown into the deep end from the day I started due to lack of manpower; would PR have been better given a full headcount at work with accounts I call my own, instead of being flitting around helping out on everyone else's work never feeling the sense of satisfaction because above all, I'm bits and pieces here and there? But then I pictured myself staying more than December's worth and I began to feel dread again. I've had enough of being the middle person and doing costings and picking up after everyone else, and garnering coverage for the client which I honestly don't care about.
I want to be writing again. At school, I never missed it much because I was always doing it, article after article, and the nights at the Chronicle over and over sub-editing for the slightest mistake. I miss it very much, and this weekend I felt the adrenaline coursing through my veins as I sat at starbucks and started applying for journalism jobs. I hummed to myself as I dug out my old writings that would form my portfolio - from Female, the Chronicle, school and the final-year project - and I was happy just holding on to knowing what I want to do, for now at least. I've never been so motivated, excited or joyful applying for any job, but now I am, with an uncertainly pool ahead of me, not knowing where I'll end up eventually or if I'll even get there, or what if I'm bad at it? I'm past caring; all I know that He's leading me there.
My boss says she hates the word "eventually". She chided, "What is eventually? Are you on the right track of getting where you want to be? What are you doing about it? Stop wasting time. If you are, then when is this eventually going to be? Work your way up there girl, go ahead and be a writer. But I don't want you to be just any writer on the street. I want to see you become editor."
I'm trying to find my footing again. It's stopped raining by the way, and I can see the building in front of me again. This reminds me of the classic case of removing the tinted glasses and moving onto another place where you think you belong better. It's a journey called discovery.
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