Tag Archives for fashion

Dear Friday, how could have I let you see me like this?

Startled? Shocked? Horrified? All of the above. How could this have happened? Oh, I could give you a perfectly reasonable explanation for why I’m wearing slacks today – not pants or trousers, but honest to goodness slacks. And I swear I’m only surfing celebrity gossip to calm my beta-brain into a blissful alpha interim before boosting back up to finish my intellectual tome-of-the-moment (and it’s a really thick one too). But on the surface, I have completely submitted to the stereotype: the hair, a bun; my shoes, practical; my cardigan (yes, cardigan), thigh grazing and demure. I’m even drinking from our office kitchen’s “make every day a Friday!” mug. The horror.

Now, before I confess what I’m about to, I’m trusting you to understand something, that this moment does not define me. Just as I’ll trust that wherever you might find yourself today – in whatever footwear – that you, at least, have hope that someday you will find your own expression of whatever marvelous uniqueness your soul is coded to contain. That said…

My full surrender to the stereotype came as I reached into my desk drawer and dug out a cherry filled chocolate from my secret stash… and then another. Yes, dear readers, I’m typing this with still-sticky fingers. I’m living the very paradigm I’ve spent a lifetime trying desperately to escape. And I ask myself… What effect does environment really have, on our identities, our actions, our morale? Maybe we are not so independent of circumstance? Maybe my day job is more than a time ticker? Maybe you and I are risking more of ourselves than we realize? So let’s do something radical this weekend. You and me. Pinky swear…

Michelle Harper and the illusion of universal individual style

Michelle Violy Harper is a delight. Her quirky, oftentimes whimsical personal style is a celebration of…. yada yada – the articles have been written, Vogue, Style.com, etc. The tributes are effusive and entirely deserved. She’s spectacular (period).

We are inspired, millions of us, but to do what? Theoretically, we’re supposed to dig into our own psyches, moods, and fave cultural/fashion references to root out an individual style that best expresses who we are and/or how we wish to be perceived. Pretty straight forward, right?

Individual style is an illusion. For every time, for every trend, there are those who lead through exaggeration: Grace Kelly’s 1950s elegance, Kurt Cobain’s layered grunge jeans, Louis XIV’s Sun King ornamentation. Costuming these characters differently is unthinkable because their style is so closely linked to their psychologies. Their brains demand an outward expression of their eccentricities – they have no choice. To dress differently would be a betrayal of self, cause chaffing personal conflict, and render them invisible within their time.

Culture is pulled ahead by powerful personalities and powerful innovations. Fashion’s game changers are innately sensitive to the evolving culture around them and engage in a (often unconscious) back and forth influencing that, when successful, aligns them perfectly with the moment, even as they effectively pull it forward – making them inspirational touchstones to the public. Such sensitivity, combined with an exaggerated, ambitious personality, is a rare and sometimes dangerous mix (eg: Cobain, Leigh Bowery). The personal costs are high; it’s not often worth being envious beyond the clothes.

A brief, and utterly soul destroying, stint working at Michaels Arts & Craft Superstore made something very clear: there are those who innovate, those who can adapt, and those who simply emulate (eg: those who buy loose beads vs kits vs pattern instructions). The same follows for fashion, and there is nothing wrong with it! This is the world! But this trend (and yes, it IS a trend) for universal personal, individual style is a philosophical fallacy.

Michelle Harper, born with a driving need to explore and experiment with her physicality, should be held aloft as inspiration. Because she, out of dozens of street style stars, is one of the very few able to transcend the trends hidden in plain view within the individuality movement (as patterned over time on sites like TheSartorialist.com – eg: fedoras, cameos). She is our latest, brightest touchstone – leather paillettes for all! ~wink

When what to wear to work becomes a military operation – A Che Guevara-ette personal style experiment

“What the hell are you wearing?” asks Doctor C, catching me in an embarrassingly macho pose in the elevator this morning.

“I don’t even know,” I say, blushing. “I was feeling kind of militant this morning so I figured I’d just go with it.”

“Nice cape. Do you think your boss is going to let you wear that hat all day?” She presses the button for her 10th floor Blank Canvas Living offices. My fate holds me on the 6th floor, rolling paper for geophysicists and dreaming about a creative future. My button’s red glow is as mocking as the smirk on Doctor C’s neon-coral lips.

“It’s actually a scarf,” I point out, ignoring her tone. “I knit it myself a few years ago, and I’m going to have to be strategic about the hat. It completes the whole Che Guevara-ette look – and the necklace adds some class.”

I see her trying to hold it in, but she breaks out laughing. “Because you’re the very picture of a classy lady right now!”

“Whatever. Life’s too short to stick to the script. I don’t care if I get in trouble. I just want to feel something when I get dressed. I can’t hide in my head anymore. I need to wear who I am, you know, honour my mood and story of the day. And you know what else? I feel like I could kick some serious ass wearing these pants. I stand differently. I walk differently. All I want to do is to climb a tree in some deep dark Bolivian forest and start scouting for a revolution- ”

“Woah there tiger,” Doctor C interrupts my tirade. “All this from wearer of the infamous ugly pants?”

“We burned those bastards! Look what you started!”

She rolls her eyes and swings her long white braid from one shoulder to the other. “If you’re in the mood for war, girl, you really need to come upstairs and do a ‘tour’ in our West corner restroom.”

The 6th floor button winks out and the elevator doors open, but I’m too curious to get off. I leave the script and stay on board for whatever adventure is waiting for me on the 10th.

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Blank Canvas Thinkers: Karl Lagerfeld quotes about work/life balance and the perfect day

While these quotes from Karl Lagerfeld’s ‘Karl on Karl’ interview will resonate with any deeply creative person, they highlight the contrast between the visionary and all the tiny French fingers, living between bonbons and pinpricks, that labour over his Chanel haute couture. These petites-mains bring his dreams into the physical, then wait quietly for him to come and tighten their work, until every hemline and seam echo his “will and discipline” – thereby achieving a certain perfection. His self direction must be respected, even admired, but can any man be called a genius when he has left no room in his philosophy for the regenerative chaos of love?

Fun at work with seismic pattern DIY pencil skirt design

…Continued from Previous Post – The ugly pants burn! An old resolution is torched and a new 2012 personal style makeover begins


I tie my sweater around my long johns’ waist for modesty’s sake, and get down to business, armed with a tape measure from the 10th floor (can’t wait until I’m allowed behind the frosted glass!) and my geophysical company’s office supplies. Turns out paper – a material I thought I knew so well – has a grain, a weft that must be respected for it to cooperate with the human form. I coax the curves with a staggered layering of scotch tape (packing tape proves too tacky and final). Cutting the pattern on the diagonal creates the chevron effect, and the fit is tailored with four darts on the front and ten ½” darts on the back – ending at different points to create a lifting effect that perfectly cups my….. Finally, to stabilize the shape of the side seams, I bend and tape in two thin pieces of metal I find digging through old printer/computer parts in our infamous ‘back room’.

Suddenly a revelation hits me; I’m having fun. But more than that, I’m entirely sated by my present, fully engaged in an interactive learning with the material and task at hand. My senses guide me through fluid problem solving with real time risks and rewards. Is this what she wanted me to know? Is this ‘blank canvas living’?

When I ring the buzzer on the 10th floor to return the tape measure, my new friend answers the frosted door herself. I do a few poses and show her my sketches, along with the results of my (trying to be super sexy in long johns, wool socks, and a paper skirt) self-timer, guerilla-style, file room photoshoot.

Her fluorescent pink lips glow even brighter when she laughs. “I had a feeling you were going to surprise me…” she says. “Let’s make an appointment for you to come back and take a tour. You know, I’ve been looking for someone like you for a long time.”

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The ugly pants burn! An old resolution is torched and a new 2012 personal style makeover begins

…Continued from Previous Post – ‘Burning the ugly pants’ personal style makeover comes to Blank Canvas Living

“I’m wearing longjohns underneath in case the tape quits, but I can’t walk around the office in them.”

“What do you do down there?” she asks.

“Roll and fold epic seismic printouts.”

“Sounds like a lovely pattern for a skirt – you have tape and scissors down there don’t you?”

The elevator doors open, but I can’t move. She’s right. So right my whole body tingles and my eyes start to water. I’ve made clothes before, even staged fashion shows – of course I can do this! The skirt is effortlessly designing itself in my brain. Ideation is a sparkling high I’ve spent too long trying to teach myself to live without. Somehow I let the world convince me that creation and imagination was valuable only when channeled for profit or praise. But this strange woman is speaking my truth, my own deep guttural soul truth, and the sky blue lettering on the glass doors at the end of the hall puts it into words.

Blank Canvas Living

“Are you coming?” she asks, and reaches to take the package with the same name.

“Anywhere you want me to go,” I answer quietly.

Her glowing pink smile flashes with understanding. “Wait by the stairs; I’ll be right back.” She disappears behind the frosted glass.

Up on the roof we stand side by side watching the ugly pants burn. She leans on the child’s red plastic snow shovel (handle wrapped in toilet paper and soaked in lighter fluid) that she’d used to light the hideous grey legs on fire.

“What else do you have down there?” I ask.

“How about I show you sometime.”

“I’d love that,” I say, keeping my eyes on the smoldering rags as my heart begins to thrill. “Thank you.”

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