When growing up is not a bad thing...

I used to think nothing, N.O.T.H.I.N.G would kill my obsession with cartoons. During one of my mother's frequent flippant remarks in my younger years about my attachment to every thing cartoon network had to offer, I swore never to give up on this (then) seemingly eternal passion of mine. Alas, eleven years on, my constant cartoon watching days have withered to days during the year when I am 'reliving' my childhood years. And okay, so those cartoon watching days are quite intense, like staying indoors for two days and watching pretty much all the Disney movies type intense.
But still.

 I was adamant that my love for cartoons would never ever wane - in fact, I expected to love cartoons more each year. Yet, I grew up into a One Tree Hill, Gilmore Girls watching freak of nature who sings Ella Fitzgerald to her teddy bear when no one...

 ... I digress. I guess the point I was, or essentially, am trying to make, is that life never fails to surprise me. Our convictions and passions, during the moments we experience them seem so big and real, that the possibilities of these passions diminishing never cross our minds. My love for fashion has taken this course. Oh, the first days of my fash-session were beautiful. I spent days researching the chances of being recruited by Teen Vogue and becoming the next Lauren Conrad. When that failed, I learned all I could about designers (Mr Largerfield took my fashginity, you see. For that, you will remain in my heart forever Karl. 4EVA), their modus operandi, the little quirks that distinguished them (I can spot a Balmain piece miles away, WITHOUT MY GLASSES, Ghesquiere, Mcqueen and of course Galliano). Style[dot]com, Vogue, Harpers Bazaar... You know, the major ones - I devoured them. I did everything a fash-sessed teenager would, even the blogging thing. I was definitely romanced by the world of fashion and clothes.

 

Now however, my former fash-pash (fashion passion, had to take it back to the streets) is leaving me. No longer do I feel the urge to make my rounds on the websites for runway shows, or weep at the fallen prospects of my attendance at any fashion weeks, or even desire to know what my beloved Karl is up to. Now, this does not mean to say that my love for clothes has run away with Naomi Campbell's hairline. Oh no. The way in which art is brought alive through clothing is still and I would like to think, will continuously be a constant hobby of mine. But who knows these things anymore. All of a sudden, the world of fashion has taken on an ugly shade of hollow emptiness and narcissism, appraising only those who can be at runway shows and dress in runway couture and be mannequins or 'muses', as the phrase goes these days. The originality, the art, the creations which once drew me to this world are being blindsighted by the bloggers and the Litas and the Nikons. Of course these are all my problems, rather than the problems of the world of fashion itself, nevertheless, the thrill is gone *cue BB King tune*

If not entirely gone, well, the thrill is going. Yet, despite all this, one thing remains clear - I will always be fascinated by fashion in all its ephemeral glory. The oohs and ahhs will never cease, because the artistry of clothes will always captivate me. And of course, Catherine Baba. To her, my allegiance will never cease.

... 4EVA.

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