Misty, blurred, bright. Feeling like your entire existence is on black and white film. Water hangs in the air, suspended indefinitely just above pavement and cobblestones. Angry Frenchmen pay me no attention as they scurry down sidewalks; places to go and baguettes to eat.
Romance is everywhere; it fills rooms and dominates energies. Romance for lovers, romance for adventure, romance for all the enlightening sights and sounds I’ve discovered. This city’s romance knows no bounds. It’s not just for the couples; Paris is for the romantics, paired or not.
When I think of you, Paris, I will think of delicate lace, wet cobblestones, and too much bread. I will wistfully remember the clicking of heels on streets at 4 am. Laughter over a bottle of wine and a rude waiter. Speechlessness when I want to say something, and moments when I didn’t feel the need at all – like that night we watched the Eiffel Tower light up in all of her splendor.
I will always remember the day you served me all of my idols on a silver platter, walking down the street following a fashion show I will one day attend. The empowerment I felt in that moment, it can only be felt in a city like you.
Getting lost in your city streets didn’t taste like panic like it usually does; it felt like freedom vibrating across my skin and the rain acted as my guide. I explored with an intensity, feverishly eager for all the knowledge and experiences you had to offer.
Paris, most importantly you taught me that my greatest love is and will always will be with myself. Me and only me. I and only I can teach myself what I am worth. And Paris, with you I am worth everything.” – Journal entry, March 4th, 2017.
If you follow me on Instagram, you probably already know that I was in Paris this past weekend (yes, during Paris Fashion Week!). While I’m not yet cool enough to attend any shows, that doesn’t mean I didn’t partake in the fashion delirium taking place. The city was stylistically thriving (even more than usual) and this refreshing state of mind certainly guided my approach to dressing throughout the trip. The quintessential Parisian effortlessness that everybody talks about – it’s there, and it’s real.
I think there’s an element of trust between fashion and the French that the rest of us don’t experience; we spend precious minutes out of our day tucking and re-tucking shirts, re-tousling our hair, striving to achieve the perfect look. But the effortlessness of the French comes from them knowing that whatever garments they put on their back will indeed look more chic the less they are fussed with. They can’t afford to waste a moment double checking themselves – they have too many baguettes to eat and too little time.
I’m still trying to maintain that Paris state of mind when dressing back in Edinburgh and forever will, but there’s a spirit that exists in the city of style’s origin that’s hard to come by anywhere else. Until next time, I [wistfully] suppose.
Anyways, here’s what I wore. Let me know how I did.
In September of 2013, I started a blog. Looking for a creative outlet for my innate earnestness to enter the fashion world, TheClosetCraze served as the perfect platform. And for over 3 years (can you believe it?) it has fulfilled its duties and been what I needed it to be, when I needed it. I’ve experienced times of intense motivation to create content, and just as much I’ve left it alone to focus on other life experiences.
TheClosetCraze was an idea birthed from my 16-turned-17-year-old mind. Wrapped up in a world flooded with like-minded teenage girls just trying to “make their mark” on the fashion world and worshipping Danielle Bernstein, I naturally fell into step with the rest. As any unseasoned young girl, a little too scared to wear what she really wanted to wear and act how she really wanted to act, it was easy to think what I was doing was right when everybody else was doing it too.
By no means am I discrediting what TheClosetCraze has done for me – it has helped me to blossom and flourish in so many ways. On my journey since its inception, it has not only enabled me to trace where my style has gone as its surface purpose prescribes, but it has provided the much needed encouragement to ride the wave of my imagination rather than chase it.
But it’s clear to me, and hopefully to you as well, that I am not the same self that I was when I was 16. And it seems to me that running a blog that no longer reflects where I am in life – creatively, intellectually, and otherwise – doesn’t make much sense.
So I present to you, the blonded.
the blonded is just a blog. No more, no less. It’s the portal through which I will toss my thoughts and feelings into the black hole of the internet. Fashion still plays the primary inspiration in the blonded universe, but by removing the confines of definition, I feel that whatever my content will be, will be unreservedly me.
In an unexpected turn of events, I’ve chosen an outfit filled with cool tones just as we head into fall. I suspect that a hint of nostalgia for the summer months had something to do with the choice of ensemble, but who’s to say.
Nostalgic as I am, however, I am beyond ready for fall. I’m slightly tired of having my makeup melt off in the humidity of Montreal and I’m more than a little excited to be wearing 4 layers again. (With boots, such as these incredible snakeskin beauties that I snagged this summer at a killer price)
I guess this look is the middle ground between these two, very conflicting, tendencies.