Self acceptance

The only thing beautiful about body issues and low self-esteem is that it's a shared thing.

I mean, we all have or had at one point in our lives the moments when we just don't feel enough. We see flaws in our appearance as well as in the depths of our identity. Sometimes we just don't know how to deal with ourselves. And even in moments of brief peace all it takes is wrong lighting in front of a mirror, a comment from someone dear, who just feels too comfortable with us, or even a comment from a stranger passing by, also from children, a pair of jeans, which should be your size, but somehow just don't fit, or a bad hair-day, even an uncomfortable outfit to chatter our image once again into pieces. Because that just confirms your earlier thoughts. "I knew it, it actually is that way."

Beauty has been such a great factor in how we communicate with the world and with ourselves. It's scientific, we gravitate naturally towards people with symmetrical perfect faces. But if you put a mirror right on the symmetry axis of your body and ask a friend to look at you from the side then there's a significant chance that they won't recognize you. There's nothing wrong with aspire towards perfection. If we understand where our limits are. 

But with our body image it's one thing. There are measures out there to kindly take advantage of. I'm not pro or against plastic surgery, for example. If it's what you feel the need for then, by all means, just go for it if you have the resources. But when taken too far it can blur the lines between the real and fake. 

I've had body issues since teenage years. All of a sudden my hormones had, what it felt like, constant raves in my body. All of which lead to a weight gain. And how this chubby little girl saw the world was that you won't be accepted by your companions if you're don't fall into the category of a standard beauty. I had friends that did fall into that. Friends who had prettier hair, longer legs, straighter nose, rocking eyes, slimmer body, etc. And they seemed to be living the "beautiful people lives". Back then it meant socializing and experiencing life to the fullest a teenager can experience. So certainly I made my presumptions based on what surrounded me. The glossy pages of magazines and interest in fashion did not help with that, but made it contrarily worse. Everything falling together I became ashamed of how I looked like. 

More towards the end of my teenage years I began to outgrow the weight gain, but didn't notice at that time. Never actually looked at the image staring me back in the mirror and seeing the reality, but an image I had of myself in the back of my mind. 

Now as I'm moving closer to my 21 years of existence I do feel like I have made remarkable steps towards peace with myself. I used to dislike my green eyes, because they were neither blue nor brown, but right in the middle. I did not like my ears, which are situated more to the outside of my head than I would have liked, because all my girlfriends were wearing circlets on their heads during summer days and I couldn't as I couldn't stop picturing myself as Dumbo. I hated my wider hips, bum and thighs and my rather - let's say-  soft belly. I had constant problems with acne. Problems with skin all together thanks to keratosis pillaris Friendly hint: don't Google it, there is some shocking image online. I was told at 13 that I had gray roots, which in fact was my natural hair color (it began to grow as what seemed gray). I'm very conscious about my  bust, which is most affected by my periodic weight gain-loss. As a woman I am "blessed" with stretch marks and cellulite. We can stop here. 
Never in my life have I been so "big" as I am today, but I feel okay with that. And instead of finding things to criticize about myself I'm turning my energy towards finding the things I'm proud of.Actually, I think now my ears are one of the most beautiful part of me and as a sign of peace I decided to make a third piercing right next to a lump that sets apart my right ear from the left, right next to a sign that shows how different my ears are form one another. I love my green eyes just because the are different and the fact that they are more of a mesh of different colors makes them the most representative thing about myself, because I am a mesh of personalities. I embrace my curves, even my badonkadonk, which makes my life hell, because no jean will actually fit me well. I do like my thin wrists and  visible collar-bones.  I like that I got freckles from my mother. I like my nail shape. I like the two birthmarks close together above my upper lip and on my right ear. I like my rather hollow back, it makes me feel more feminine. I know who I'm not and who I can't strive towards. Most of the days. More than ever. 

Was that something weird to say? Moreover, was that something weird to read? We're all used to thinking, hearing and reading about complaints. And whenever someone says something good about themselves we see it as cockiness. Or as in "good for you" with a side of sarcasm. Why do we do that? Why can't we let others be happy with what they have? Why can't we be happy with what we have? 

I have thought a lot about what triggered the changes in the way I see myself. I think there's definitely an amount of getting older and wiser about the range of power of change. In addition, there's a fair amount of positive relationships with the people around you. There's plenty of quotes out there that forward a message like change happens within and you can't love another before you love yourself and such. I do agree that the change happens within, but the triggers may be from the outside. You know, like your friends telling you how talented and gifted you are at something or your significant other hinting how mad and wild your body makes them. Maybe it all happens silently. Maybe it's someone close, who makes it work on a day-to-day basis with the flaws they have until you don't even think that they have any. 

No matter what form or shape, we all share the moments of self-doubt. But isn't it what makes us fragile, tolerant, understanding and open-minded about the world? Isn't it what makes us human? 

Love and other cover-ups

I'm probably one of the worst packers out there.

I'm unrational even when composing the obligatory list of shit I can't forget. I usually end up packing too much things, because "what IF there's this unexpected event for which the existence of one special thing is a matter of life and death and by chance that is exactly the item I left behind?". I'm also an exaggerator. That's practically all you need to know about me. Nice to meet you, too, random person in the internet. 

I was recently complaining to a friend about how I have no freakin' clue how to pack my entire life into one luggage for a longer trip. "It's just 20 kilos, c'mon" said the materialist aka me. 

"Your life is here," the witty young man said with an elegant gesture hinting to his heart, "not in a luggage." 

It wasn't until we parted later in the night when it hit me: I'm an emotional cover up-er. 

In the meaning that I replace the original meaning of an item or a feeling with another one, which I think is more essential for the sake of myself.

Remember how I wrote earlier about things not being just plain "things"?

I will still stand behind some things I said. E.g Certain items are a sentimental memorabilia. They are fragments of your past. They are memories. They are emotions. They are people

I mean it's true. Some items with a deeper idea behind them trigger emotions and/or memories. 

It gets loopy when you feel like your entire room is filled with those things. Then I start thinking whether I have really deeply unconditionally gotten attached to an item in my so far short life. Or am I covering them up with an emotion? Or am I a hoarder? 

I do connect with the reasons why people become hoarders, but I don't think I'm as far yet to be called as the last one...so I guess it's the first.

This reminds me of this page in "The Little Prince". If you ignore the original meaning of it you can kinda fit this picture into this context. What do you see? The cover-up or the real deal?

But in a way isn't it human? Don't we all get things mixed up sometimes? Either on purpose, when we are too afraid to admit the truth to ourselves? Or unintentionally, when we're experiencing something new for the first time? 

Kinda like with love, don't you agree?

Someone loves the idea behind the person, but not the actual person? Maybe you're just afraid of being single and alone? Or the other person is just too good under the sheets? Do they just represent the best period of your life? Or they are just able to provide the lifestyle you're interested in? Etc

What is love? Baby, don't hurt me. No more.

Money can't buy me love. 

And I will always love you.

Love me tender. I can't stop loving you. Where did our love go.

Love is all that matters. All we need is love. Can you feel the love tonight. Love is all around. Love me for what I am. Nothing's gonna change my love for you. Too much love will kill you. I can't make you love me if you don't. Without your love. You can't hurry love. Is this love. Where is the love. All for love. Love hurts. You give love a bad name. One love. What's love got to do with it. Addicted to love.

So sick of love songs...

No shit, man.

The more you listen to these love songs the more you realize that it can indeed be just about sex, need, crave, want, passion, fear instead. There is a fine line between need, want and pure love. 

How can you know exactly that what you think you are feeling is actually what you're feeling? Are you covering something up with love?

I guess it all comes down to past experience.

I've been in love 3 times in my short life. At least that is how I thought.

1st time. Kindergarten. C'mon, we've all had that one crush at a mildly young age. To this day I can't even remember his name. To be honest, I remember him more vaguely than the ones I had less interest. What I do remember is how me and my that time best friend used to quarrel about who would in the end marry him. I haven't heard from him since those days. -Want. Definitely a want. 

2nd time. Okay, please don't laugh. I'm being serious. 4 years ago. Summer. August. A fairly chilly night. My bare shoulders were covered by a slouchy cardigan. I was heading home. I passed the first door next to my section of the house. He was sitting on the second stair in front of the house. A bit older than me he had this Sinatra thing going on, but in a rebel kind of way. A wrinkled buttoned down with rolled-up sleeves, a vest unbuttoned at the front, skinny jeans and, my gosh, a fedora. We glanced at each other while I was passing him. You know that scene in a cheesy romantic comedy where everything starts going in slow mode? Yup, it went exactly like that. Believe me when I say that I'm not a strong believer of love at first sight, but back then...well, I was a teenager, I couldn't help it. It felt like the lovestory between Romeo and Juliet. Thank God it wasn't. Or else we would have died. But it did end quite tragically- I never saw him again. I wasn't that bummed out because of it. I guess I enjoyed the fairytale of it all and the sudden spark was magical. -Need

3rd time. Last year. We met at the beginning of spring. Owh, spring love, probably one of the most beautiful things one can experience. I guess you can call it the most "proper-ish" relationship of my life. But it was still kinda not that "real"? Anyway, it was complicated. Isn't it almost always? Our first contact didn't leave mutual feelings. For me it wasn't love at first sight. It was a journey. But falling for him was so natural. He was foreigner. 5 months older. Wow, was he tall or what? He was... very. He had the cutest dimples on his lower back. A guy with a handwriting that can be mixed up with an 8 year old's (the way he wrote -with his nose almost on the paper before him and the awkward grip of the pen- reminded also of a small boy that has just replaced his pencil finally for an actual pen). And with one of the weirdest sense of humors I've ever been against with. He made me feel beautiful inside and out. I never actually walked or sat, but instead I floated, while I was trying to catch the imaginary pink butterflies and bubbles surrounding me. Sometimes I felt so much that I thought I could explode into double rainbows and pink unicorns and purple confetti and purring kittens with milky whiskers and pixie dust and other happy shit you can imagine and spread joy into the darkest corner of this world. Yes, I was that bloody happy. -Love? I think it was love. Based on what I wrote earlier it has to be. Right?

With relationships I covered up, because I just didn't know better about love. At first it was the equivalent of need and want. 

Coming back to packing. I guess my relationship with "things" is is the second type- replacement. If you'd pull the veil off you could see fear beneath it. The fear of change. The adventure in front of me is most likely the biggest thing I've ever agreed doing and most likely will it change how I look at the world, my life, well, basically me. And with having things that remind me who I used to be then maybe I won't loose myself entirely. 

I'm excited for myself and at the same time frightened. 

But overall, if you compare a single human being with Earth, the Universe...a person seems significantly irrelevant. And in this imperceptible time, place and manner something as small as an individual has a likely chance to...you know... just get lost. In some way we feel safe with things that support our individuality. It's not something I think about daily, I mean, I just like the things I surround myself with. But in a larger sense they do keep me grounded, especially on days when I feel fragile.

I have no idea what I'm talking about. 

I guess I just have to get used to the idea that my life, with my identity, my loved ones and my memories, exists without material support. As long as I feel it then it's there, right?  

No more covering up. 

How are your relationships with cover-ups?

Billboard girls

Today I’m going to talk about something that has been bothering me since the last year. 

My reason for writing this now is because of an article that The New York Times published after NY fashion week. You can read it here. 

First of all, let’s think about how fashion and especially trends spread in the old days.

In the beginning fashion as a part of a culture spread the world as the regional borders were moved. Up to the end of the 18th century developments in fashion were displayed at European courts and in cities as far away as St. Petersburg using mannequins that traveled around. They were put on display in public squares for the public to admire. Funny fact: during the wars when the mannequins were transported the carriages were always left unharmed and could travel freely, for the sake of fashion of course. An independent fashion press gradually developed from the end of 18th century that brought fashion closer to the middle class. Later on designers started using famous Hollywood actresses as their brand’s faces, e.g Audrey Hepburn for Givenchy. Which closer to the present widened and that included a variety of celebrities, who have worn designer pieces into fashion history. Like who can forget Jennifer Lopez in that green revealing Versace dress with a low lower V-neck? Later designers found models as a way of advertising themselves: Agness Deyn, Kate Moss are some models that have been noticed also for their personal style. With the social media rapid growth designers have noticed its potential when been building their marketing platforms. Diane von Furstenberg captures the attention of their target market on twitter. And Louis Vuitton broadcasted their 2010 spring ready-to wear on Facebook exclusively for their FB followers. But the newest trend I believe is marketing through fashion bloggers. Which is actually not such a new trend. That have basically made these guys- the bloggers- into these guys- a brand mascots. They just suit together so perfectly, don't they?

So why is this trend growing? 

Well first of all fashion blogs are hothothot. And they are giving fashion magazines a run for their money. Why? Because the most important thing they have is the personal touch. It’s not just clothes on models and trend forecasts. It’s about giving a peek into a real breathing made-of-flesh human being’s life. So the contact with the writer and the content is much more probable to happen. A good blog is like a good friend’s visual diary. So rising popularity of blogs means greater audience. 

It’s also an additional place to build marketing campaigns to enlarge the audience. And in all that marketing strategy a blogger acts like the link between the brand and the potential audience. 

In the beginning of last year the guys behind Proenza Schouler sat down with the independent fashion bloggers and talked about how the blogsphere has extraordinary impact on the business. Because of how fast bloggers act. Now you have a group of people doing the PR for you for free. Pictures and reviews of the latest collections become viral in a couple of hours time.

“Most young designers don’t have the resources to hire high-powered PRs or have access to important editors and stylists,” said Philip Oh, a street photographer, “so lending their clothes to friends and supporters who will get photographed is a great way to get noticed by both the industry and consumers.” the article writes.

It also attracts the "right" audience. Now what I mean by that is a brand will most likely work with a blogger that embodies their brand. But that blogger also attracts that part of the audience who will most likely share their sense of style. So basically a brand connects with the perfect audience directly. 

When you’re advertising in an online community you get quick access to the latest traffic signs. A lot of blogs show statistics about how many views does that site have and from witch sources do these views come. 

There are many ways how brands work with bloggers from which the most common are small advertisements on the blog, sending them items of latest collections, collaborating, giving tours of the headquarters, hiring them as models or stylists, lending them an item for a photoshoot or for fashion week. 

All of this is really great and all. From a designers perspective. From a readers perspective? Not that much. Basically what I see is this.

These pictures were chosen here for the sake of illustrating my point. No offence, people. Okay, maybe some brand names don't go with the actual image. Like 3 of them. Can you spot the odd man out? 

I love the meaning behind fashion blogs. They are a part of my usual day and regular read. To be honest I love people, but sometimes I feel I would rather love them from a distance. Fashion tells a story and so behind every blog is a story. And I consider myself a storycollecter. But since last year I kinda feel empty the majority times after reading or looking though a blog. Looking through all of the new posts from the blogs I follow I find myself scrolling down more than actually clicking on a post to read it. It's just not inspiring anymore. The reason behind that is that the majority of fashion blogs are no longer relatable. Bloggers have too much dived into the business world. Now it’s all about selling yourself. Not your physical self but your imago. And personal style which was the first thing that hooks a person is now in the background. It's not about someone with outstanding style and someone who is trying to express themselves with normal means. Everything is too...fawncy. It's just brands walking around. It kinda feels all the same. 

This is the normal sight also during fashion weeks.

"Was it only a couple of years ago that these showily outfitted swans — stylists, bloggers, fashion editors and style-struck students — click-clacked on the pavements, showing off a mash-up of vintage clothes, fast fashion and high-end labels in what used to be seen as a commerce-free zone?"

"Today many of them are Web icons, trotting out their finery for scores of fans. But what they are parading as street style — once fashion’s last stronghold of true indie spirit — has lately been breached, infiltrated by tides of marketers, branding consultants and public relations gurus, all intent on persuading those women to step out in their wares."

“These girls are definitely billboards for the brands,” said Tom Julian, a fashion branding specialist in New York City, one of a handful engaged in a particularly stealthy new form of product placement. “People still think street style is a voice of purity,” Mr. Julian said. “But I don’t think purity exists any more.”

I totally understand what some of you may say. "Hey, just don't read them if you don't like them". I see what you may be saying. I just feel sad because of what's going on. And I felt the need to express it. There are really good blogs out there and deserve the time you spend on them. It's just that majority rules. And I have to do some cleaning up when it comes to my reading list. 

A while ago I found this video on YouTube.
You know that moment when you're just listening to a new song or sth and at some point you find yourself in this weird part of YT watching to cute&funny cat videos or an Ellen video from the long past? Okay maybe the cats and Ellen part may vary for different people, but you get the point.
So for me it was one of those moments again and I stumbled upon this silly video that has sisters and brothers all over YouTube.

I'm usually not the person to laugh at others accidents. I just triple that pain in my mind and etc etc, it's just not pleasant. I felt so bad for laughing at some falls, because as a member from the same sex I know how humiliating it is to fall on high heels...especially in front of an audience...at work. Hey, everyone has accidents. But what later crossed my mind was that a silly video like that has actually a wise point:

Fashion should be fun.

"You got shades on your eyes and your heels so high that you can't even have a good time"

Don't take the latest trends seriously. Don't go all mad for them. 

People saying "Oh God, oxblood is in fashion this fall, but it's a color that is just not me at all" stop it, cut it out, shake it off. 

Never take fashion too seriously.

Never take yourself too seriously.

Falling for fall

I'm a fall girl. 

It's my favorite season concerning nature, food, fashion, the mood and what is stands for- all is new in September.

This year it definitely hit me hard.

Recently I bought a pair of this delicious caramel color ankle booties. I just adored the color and probably couldn't unconsciously get around the fact that I have been obsessively gazing at trees too much. But I can't help it. It makes me smile. It's like I'm telling the trees inside my head how beautiful they are and it feels they are blushing at my compliment by getting red-ish and brown-ish with each passing day until they reach this wonderful golden color. 

So the warm nature colors are on every corner right now (chilling with love, as they say) and I feel like dressing like one of those beautiful trees. So if you have nothing to wear for a Halloween party this year just pick out the autumn colors from your closet and when someone ask who you are you can just reply "ermm... I'm a tree!? Can't you see?" Double plus by making your answer rhyme like an underground boss. 

So back to the boots. I was happy to introduce them to my wardrobe when it suddenly hit me. The majority of my closet is cold and dark. Those boots were the first brown purchase I did in...years? The fall girl had practically no fall colors. How ironic? 

So whenever in need for some inspiration on "what the heck do I combine them with?" just dig into Google pictures. That always reminds you of some items that you've totally forgotten about, because your wardrobe is still in Summer-time mode. As I wrote this Spring, it's once more that time to make an inventory and get inspired once again by fall and all its jewels.

Yeah, probably just me alone in this cold world that has yet to do that as the last minute person that I am. 

For me this fall the hits are oversized scarves (the statement necklaces of outerwear), mustard, burgundy, smaragd green and military green, caramel brown, gold, orange, dark grey, dark plum, suede, leather, fedoras (yeah, they are back!), oversized coats that look more like inflated , knits. 

Basically your every Sunday morning market chill. 

Current inspiration

Unisex

Lately I've found myself more and more looking through the menswear departments in thrift stores.  

(Estonian) men don't usually get lost in second-hand shops. And that I can state based on my own observations. For every 5 women there's only 1 man. And that on good days. For those who are bothered by my assumptions: yes there are exceptions, you're welcome. 

And well, when they do by some chance get lost there they tend to stick to the women's department... so I figured more for me. And less women with nails as long as eagles claws to fight with when diving in. I'm confused too here, people. I don't know how those types of plastic/gel creatures find their way into the small weird used things selling shops. 

I've written about this somewhere in the past already, but I just have to repeat it that there's just something so compelling about dressing against the typical gender roles. From a woman's perspective it's in a strange kind of way liberating. 

And by the way who ever actually claimed clothes have genders? Indeed, they are actually just a bunch of fibers intertwined. One can look at our culture background to find the answer, but nowadays it's most of all the media that gives those stacks of fibers a deeper meaning and determines how the overall perceives them. 

Remember fall last year when Kanye hit the stage at Madison Square Garden in a leather skirt and it hit every major newspaper/magazine stand and online style sites? Suddenly a skirt on a man didn't seem that ridiculous (not talking about kilts here folks) anymore (well for more people than usually) and many were commending on his bold out of the box choice. 

Of course there were those who just scratched their heads, but overall it didn't leave the public chilly as he stepped beyond the normal standards the society has created. And when someone defines those standards it becomes something scandalous. Keep in mind here what happened when women demanded the right to wear pants, e.g Marlene Dietrich and Katharine Hepburn. 

And what is more suitable than to quote the Great Katharine herself: "If you obey all the rules, you miss all the fun"

That nicely brings me to my latest find.

Hana Pesut is a Canadian photographer, who next to editorials and portraits takes wonderful pictures of good old switcheroos. In the meaning that a couple (or a group of friends) is asked to exchange the current items of clothing they are wearing with each other. And I just found it so refreshing/daring/provocative/funny/inspiring/coolio-cool that I knew I had to share it. 

It works perfectly for those dark fall nights with a trusty cup of tea to bring a bit of humor to the end of the day. Also why not stop for a moment to seriously think about this topic.

Kinda isn't that weird, right? Or have I been looking too much at them and am now brainwashed? 

For more pictures from Hana and switcheroos:

http://sincerelyhana.com/projects/switcheroo/

http://sincerelyhana.tumblr.com/

My good sir, tell me a story

The last piece I wrote I wrote with a mixture of self-doubt and nerves. It's weird. I've never felt like that before while writing here. It was the only place I could write freely without fear. It's clearly ironic how a person not friends with words decided to start writing a blog. I'm not sure if it was connected to this stubborn side of me that is fighting to get over my fears and not let them defeat me or maybe something else. Yeah, I'm not sure.
Either way, I felt really amateurish (it's not like I'm not entirely) the last time. Really struggling to get my point of views out and finding the proper words while trying to make it beautiful to read as well (which is something I'm always looking forward to in a text). I scared me even more. The lack of writing about what's important to me during the last months had a degenerative effect on me.
And in those situations what's there better to do than to write, write and write as it was once so clearly put by one of my dear friends. So here I am following his words and writing, writing, writing.
Even if my pursuits are a baloney sandwich.
So here is a take on a picture I was drawn to while wondering around Andy's blog.
I love how fashion tells a story. You know already how I love stories. When I grow up I want to be a storycollecter and if that's a bit too abstract then a storyteller will do just fine.
Hey, an idea for you! Feeling bored? Send me your story. No, seriously. Make me happy, please. 

"It took me 5 years to finally and fully understand it.

All that was necessary was a stranger in a bus-station, one glance. And voila! You, my dear, have yourself an epiphany.

You gave me the 5 best years of your life and all I left behind was a note saying "I'm sorry. I just can't do this anymore"

I've never acted just so plain thoughtless. By getting on this train I've given up on a secure relationship, a designated future, a fought-for career. Love. Stability. Comfort. 

Still I've never felt so liberated before.

I embraced your lovely words and how you arranged them until they formed the the most beautiful vision of our common future.
Seeing the world. Moving in. A ring. A house with sunflowers growing in the back yard. Kids. Grandkids. Laughing at each other's gray locks.
You were so good at building castles in the air. You were so convincing. I bought it. You made me want the same things, because I wanted you. At least I thought I did. Now as I look back I know it was the idea of you.
 I was young and I was mesmerized by what you brought into my life. 
That's how I explained it to myself.

You made me want to be a better person. But I'm not. I'm me. And I can't even believe I'm almost quoting the cheesiest movie ever made.
I really tried to fit in with this image you had of me. God is my witness, I really did. For a while even I started to believe that maybe I truly am someone different from what I thought to be. It took a brief connection with someone waiting for the same bus, a shared coffee and shared lives to come back to reality. I couldn't shut down the voice in my head repeating "you don't belong here". He was leaving for home. He asked me to come. I couldn't say no.
I'm sorry. I just can't do this anymore."

Let's talk hair

How have I been doing?

Well let's just say: long hair short.

Yup, that was the punchline and the whole story basically. Thank you for reading and I'll see you next time, folks. 

Note to self: Jane, you can't use that joke in letter, they can see you've not stopped there. Darn.

Anyway, yes, let's talk hair.

I feel like this song should be appropriate here

I guess we've all been in that position where our description of the ultimate perfect haircut we had in our mind has somehow got lost in the process. The barber's chair is where you acknowledge that 1-2 cm is totally subjective and would make a ruler into a depressive alcoholic if it would be a living thing. And a 'snip' here and a 'snip' there and you immediately regret having a haircut. Then there's nothing else to do but to give an awkward smile to the hairdresser when she asks you cheerfully "so how is it?". It's not that easy to find words in a shock state. And as you exit you give one last "I'm sorry" glance at what was once yours and is now in a sad pile on the floor. If you haven't been there then a) you have never had a haircut b) you pay a quarter of your soul for a cut c) you don't give a single thought to your appearance d) you are a manic liar/ optimist e) you can't remember how long you've had the present cut.

It's funny how we get so emotionally attached to something that is a bunch of dead cells and most important of all- it grows back. But it actually is like a security blanket we hide behind. Necessarily it becomes a part of who we are and what we say about ourselves to the outer world. Your hair tells the truth about you, literally, just watch an episode of CSI. But talking in a non scientific language the way we treat our hair nowadays shows our deeper self and our deeper state. If I'm having a bad day I can assure you that my hair is not going to look like I'm taking part of a pageant contest. And frankly that could be said vice versa also. Actually, did you know that it's been studied that a bad hair day affects men more than it does women? Tell it, sistah!

For a long time already men and women have taken pride in their hair. There's the story in the Bible about Samson and Delilah, where he's strong until she cuts his locks and he loses all of his strength. In Colonial America a man had to give his permission for his wife before she could cut her hair, because her hair was considered his possession. Or how sirens were always portrayed with silky long hair as they allured men. It was also believed that witches held power in their hair. And in the 20s women cut short bobs as a sign of rebellion against traditional gender roles. Hippies, skinheads, emos, punk kids, etc...and these stories go on and on until the present form. 

We usually associate long hair with femininity. If you think about it it's quite logical. Long hair is used as a sign of gender differentiation. That's how we tell apart little boys from girls. But it also transcends into adulthood. A Hungarian university study looked at how men described women with short and long hair. While the comments about the women with short hair were all lovely- youthful, honest, caring, emotional- men still in general preferred longer hair, because they saw it as a sign of fertility, health and stability. And another research showed that the majority of single women had longer hair as a sign of "hey, I'm single" to attract the opposite sex. 

And so when a woman cuts her long hair we presume something happened.One of the finest examples of hair being the mirror of the mind is Miss Spears. I don't even have to tell her story as everyone already knows what happened in the combination of her and a razor.

"I'm as free as my hair" sang someone who probably has more wigs than Summer has days.

Hair carries your past. That's how I see it. So this past August I decided to cut my hair short after having long hair for 3 years. And I mean loooong hair. But after having cut my hair short 4 summers ago I got bored of it and then the process of growing that bob out began. At that time it didn't really suit me, it didn't feel right and most of all the maintenance was a pain. With longer hair it was much easy and variable. When my hair was still damp I would braid it, in the morning open it and off I went. I was presentable with less effort and so it became comfortable to have long hair. In the beginning of the passing summer I had those thoughts again- why not cut it? A friend suggested not to rush with those thoughts. But I couldn't get passe them. Something happened in the beginning of August. Something that I'd been looking forward for a long time and something that changed me in some ways. Something that showed that I'm not who I thought to be and something that showed me where I don't belong. I felt I was ready to say goodbye to the past me and to make an actual statement: cutting my hair. Long hair represented 3 years of my life that had passed and I needed to move on. And I was eager to give a visit to my hairdresser. After hearing my ideas and having a look at an Ann Hathaway picture I took with myself (verbal skills of this creature: 0) she asked if I'd like to take 5 and think through my plan. I didn't even blink when turning down that proposal. I was determined. I have never been that determined when having my hair cut, like never ever. She took off more than 20 cm. When I had a look at the mess on the floor it felt like I was carrying around the amount of two normal headfull of hair.

It's not news. But I felt like writing it down now when my hair has kinda gotten used to it's length. I know it's weird to say, but that's how it feels. Or maybe it's just me who has gotten used to the new do. Even when I look like a mixture of Norman Salumäe (just Google him) and a fluffy poodle on rainy days and a hobo on windy days (and almost every third day to be honest), even when my haircut grows out like in hyper speed, even if there's not that much styles to try I'm still glad I took the risk.

I got my hair shortened today once again. My hairdresser said that it's funny, when regular people go from extra long to short they keep it like that for a month max and then decide to grow it out again, but with me it's getting shorter and shorter with each visit. I laughed, because I was one of those people before. I hope I don't lose her.

I feel free (-er).

Now, my laptop is full of pictures of hair inspirations.

So, med-short haircut girls, this goes out to you.

This girl, Karla, is my hero when it comes to flirty curly hair. How fabulous is that do?

A surprise visitor II

Howdy there, people of thy World! EMO aka Eve “Stop everything you are doing and be

AWESOME! “ is here to finish some unfinished business. I’m here to post my post

of the blogrape agreement me and Jane here had. I know, it took a what, almost 5 months, but

I have an excuse (not that any one cares. Like our literature teacher always said: “Who can’t

find an excuse for himself, is an idiot“) – I simply didn’t have ideas worthy enough to be seen

here, as this place is just too Awesome to handle, right?!

So, lately, Jane came up with this idea, which she borrowed from someone else, to write a

story based on a Fashion picture (well, she said, any picture, but I let her to decide, I wanted

a challenge). I was up to it. Why? Not only I haven’t written something properly for over a

year now, which is a total bummer, I know I should be writing stories if one day I want to

pursue my inner senses and turn them into books (shhhh, it’s a secret), but I also can use it as

my post on this blog. How more convenient can it get, right?!

Before we start, something about what influenced me while writing this. Basically, I

obviously had to choose the picture first. I try to listen to my first instinct and my eyes just

landed on this utterly magical, enhancing, something worth turning into a story. I came up

with the beginning while listening to one song, which I don’t quite remember anymore. After

that I had a fallout. Thoughts fought me in order not to become words. And then, I started

writing.

Heartbeat, sci-fi, heartbreak, yin-yang, lace, light and dark, Loom, Phantom of the Opera,

green, Kanye West-Love Lockdown, Adam Lambert- Underneath.

The proper (if any) way of reading the next piece, which is quite unusual even for myself, is

like this. Turn on you imagination – prepare it before reading. Get yourself in the imagining

mood. (Here, do something that will get you “going“) Read it slowly. Embrace it. Read into

words. Picture them. Let your own experiences, your own associations with the words create

images in your head. See the words as if they were a short film (yeah, I recently became very

obsessive about short films). Create the story. Fill it with more details, like a proper book

does it to you. Just tune yourself into something different. Reach out there where you have

never been before. Experience in those short moments something new. And then savour it. Let

it linger. Don’t rush through it. If something bothers you, come back, read it again or forget

forever. Just don’t leave it unread.

People change – the lie I didn’t believe in. I was proved wrong very soon. Sooner than I

expected, not that I expected it at all.

They say you never forget your first love. I wish I could. We met in early September. Leaves

lay under my feet when our eyes met. I didn’t have to think twice. His green eyes flickered in

the sunlight. The smile that made me want to forget the world existed. His voice, unbearable

to hear, dark and too seductive.

I wish I wouldn’t have fallen. I simply wish our ways never crossed.

He didn’t pursue me sexually. His senses reached higher. He longed for something beyond

imagination. He took me to his secret places inside his mind, carefully chosen to reflect one

or other desire of his. He bathed me in his darkest thoughts. Darkest dreams. In the dark itself.

He owned me. He owned my soul. He filled it with dark. I have never seen dark as beautiful

as he had shown me. I never understood dark until then. He was the dark.

To the outside world we were barely visible. People never see the dark, they are scared of it.

Scared of what they might find in it. I was one of them. People change.

Time was irrelevant. It stood still, yet ran faster than ever. Year has passed in a blink of an

eye.

Everything changed.

I woke up in the middle of the night only to find he was gone. In the morning, the same green

eyes greeted me. They bore a different energy to them. Light. His voice, his hair, his mind...

They were light. Luminous. Dangerous. Destroying me from the inside. He had changed.

Everything about him had changed.

He made me wear white. He kissed me. His kiss left my lips burning like Sun itself kissed

them mercilessly, leaving behind the sensation of cold. I was freezing. Light started to creep

in, forcing dark to surrender. To leave me. To leave the world he created for me. Within me.

I was left hollow.

Alone.

He disappeared.

I never saw him again.

I didn’t have time to tell him I loved him.

I am happy I didn’t.

Light consumed me.

Dark ate me.

His job was done.

Now, as you have probably turned back from wherever place you visited, I want to talk about

Jane. If you might have read, she left quite a tearful-truth-Awesomeness here - A surprise

visitor - and

I wanted to give something back.

I consider myself a very lucky person for the God or Universe or whatever Higher Power or

even Life itself bringing me into her life. I couldn’t be more grateful. I constantly remind her

how much she means to me, in case she doesn't know it already, and I know how I can get

a bit annoying with that. I can’t say enough, how much I appreciate her, love her, adore her,

admire her. About that, I admire her, because she possesses so many Awesome qualities that

you simply can't overlook them. She has this mind of hers that comes up with these wonderful

and so original ideas, she amazes me every single time [damn, this girl in High School -

she rocked, she was the one that came up with most of our great performances and other incredible thing we did during our serving time :D] She is very determined. She has so many

quirks, but I know that I have more, sorry. She is an incredible artist and craftsman. Did you

know? (Probably not) She, after she saw this post - Awesome BadAss Walk - made me this for

my Birthday?!?!:

Like, for Crying Out Loud, Woman, are you serious? She rocked my world. She always has.

Always will.

I owe her my love and a rising interest in Fashion, Fashion Images, Stripes, Black & White,

Jackets, Mixing Feminine & Masculine styles, Life. I feel like she has made my life so much

more Awesome. And she shares very Awesome music with me - great choice of music, just

bloody splendid.

.

She doesn't give herself enough credit. I never take anything for granted and therefore I

always remind her, how Awesome she is.

She once said that she is my brain/sense of reason. I totally believe her.

She is a food maniac and she eats very slowly. She loves the smell of asphalt after the rain.

She loves watching "Betty". She loves eating Spaghetti Carbonara. She bakes the best in the

world Pavlova (check here somewhere for da best recipe). She loves old-school musicals. She

doesn't have Facebook nor Twitter nor other bull*** social media demons :D . She doesn't

like being the centre of attention. She is more masculine than Timo.(You can edit that out, if

you feel the need.) She is my Socially Awkward Penguin Friend (I am one too, you see). She

loves DIY & flea markets. She has this thing when she does her nails, she leaves the left hand

pinkie finger the other colour than the rest. She loves Oreos. And yet, there is so much more

to her. There are many other things I know and some I don't...(Like she pointed out one – Do

you think you know everything about me?)

You, my dear, are the person that inspires everybody else, especially me. You are the weird,

eclectic and stunning human being. You. YOU!

And now, I give you something that we all might enjoy. Pictures. Just freaking Awesome

pictures I found in my countless (8) folders with thounsands of saved pictures. I am crazy, but

so is Jane.

For now, my time has run out here. Love you, Janey. Thanks for letting me here, on your

territory. I hope I did fine. Didn’t scare your crowd away or anything.

Stay Awesome, folks!

Your EMO.