my new fancy shirt
This weekend, in between long hikes through Forest Park, rerun episodes from the fourth season of Sex in the City on VHS from the library and BBQs, all with SK, I found time Saturday to wander to the thrift store in my neighborhood and buy myself a fancy, green shirt way outside my usual comfort zone.
Just so you know, my usual comfort zone is somewhere between twelve-year-old-boy and homeless-schizophrenic-guy -- usually androgynous and usually a little tatty. It's the perfect reflection, really, of two of my life's biggest influences: my queerness and my job with homeless, schizophrenic people. Think: basic t-shirts with trousers cut off around the ankle and ragged like an island castaway and that's basically my summer look.
So, Saturday I went to the thrift store on 7th and Fremont with a whole new look in mind, inspired by SK who learned how to dress for super-hot-heat while living in India and studying textiles. (In addition to all the other things the lovely and talented SK is and can do, she is also a textile designer.) She has lots of long-sleeved, lightweight, cotton shirts to keep the sun off and the body cool and I've been watching her in these clothes for awhile now and suddenly started feeling envious.
I've also been inexplicably drawn to everything orange lately. Mango, actually. The color mango has attracted me like nothing else, beginning as early as March when I started having dreams about orange shoes (very similar to the Keen hiking sandals I just got, which are berry red with orange stitching). So Saturday I walked into the store (called "Rerun") looking for a lightweight, cotton shirt, preferably of the mango or orange variety. I found one shirt that would have been perfect, right color, right texture, however it was the kind of shirt designed to be tied just below the tits, bearing the torso like a belly dancer and... yeah... that's way further outside my comfort zone than I'm prepared to travel this summer.
Pretty soon, after flicking through a lot of racks, I ran across a pale green shirt that fit the bill perfectly (besides being green instead of orange) and was even made in India. Perfect. My lingering butchiness prickled at the understated adornments on the front (some rufflish type parts and some... well... clear, spangly things...) but I tried it on and the cut was perfect. I chose to see the dandier elements of the shirt through pirate colored glasses -- I can see Jack Sparrow lounging in this shirt and if it's good enough for Johnny Depp dressed as a pirate, it's good (ie: butch) enough for me. So I bought it.
I wore it, with SK's indespensable encouragment, to the BBQ last night and got lots of positive feedback from all the older lesbians in attendance. And, really, what feels better than getting positive feedback from a circle of sweet, old lesbians? While eating a bunch of grilled chicken and roasted pumpkin and baked potatoes and sour cherry cobbler? And then shooting off fireworks? Not much.
Just so you know, my usual comfort zone is somewhere between twelve-year-old-boy and homeless-schizophrenic-guy -- usually androgynous and usually a little tatty. It's the perfect reflection, really, of two of my life's biggest influences: my queerness and my job with homeless, schizophrenic people. Think: basic t-shirts with trousers cut off around the ankle and ragged like an island castaway and that's basically my summer look.
So, Saturday I went to the thrift store on 7th and Fremont with a whole new look in mind, inspired by SK who learned how to dress for super-hot-heat while living in India and studying textiles. (In addition to all the other things the lovely and talented SK is and can do, she is also a textile designer.) She has lots of long-sleeved, lightweight, cotton shirts to keep the sun off and the body cool and I've been watching her in these clothes for awhile now and suddenly started feeling envious.
I've also been inexplicably drawn to everything orange lately. Mango, actually. The color mango has attracted me like nothing else, beginning as early as March when I started having dreams about orange shoes (very similar to the Keen hiking sandals I just got, which are berry red with orange stitching). So Saturday I walked into the store (called "Rerun") looking for a lightweight, cotton shirt, preferably of the mango or orange variety. I found one shirt that would have been perfect, right color, right texture, however it was the kind of shirt designed to be tied just below the tits, bearing the torso like a belly dancer and... yeah... that's way further outside my comfort zone than I'm prepared to travel this summer.
Pretty soon, after flicking through a lot of racks, I ran across a pale green shirt that fit the bill perfectly (besides being green instead of orange) and was even made in India. Perfect. My lingering butchiness prickled at the understated adornments on the front (some rufflish type parts and some... well... clear, spangly things...) but I tried it on and the cut was perfect. I chose to see the dandier elements of the shirt through pirate colored glasses -- I can see Jack Sparrow lounging in this shirt and if it's good enough for Johnny Depp dressed as a pirate, it's good (ie: butch) enough for me. So I bought it.
I wore it, with SK's indespensable encouragment, to the BBQ last night and got lots of positive feedback from all the older lesbians in attendance. And, really, what feels better than getting positive feedback from a circle of sweet, old lesbians? While eating a bunch of grilled chicken and roasted pumpkin and baked potatoes and sour cherry cobbler? And then shooting off fireworks? Not much.
posted by reasonably prudent poet at 10:08 PM
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