Friday, April 11, 2008
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Let's be honest
I work amongst some of Australia's best dressed females. True.
I am in awe of their Prada, their Miu Miu, their Dior.
One question always beckons: Are they not working in the Australian media industry? Known for notoriously low wages and budgets that simply cannot stretch though will happily fly talents PA's first class and put them up in an adjoining bungalows?
Are they carrying their assets in the crook of their arm and balancing precariously on the ever-so-high-heels they seem intent on wearing? Or do they have wealthy husbands and march from the east straight to the fashion desks of the glossies as a glorified whatever, only to leave and have babies later that they can dress in this season's must haves?
Oh I'm not jealous. It does sound like that I accept, though my passion here is not to tear apart women for wearing better shoes then I could ever justify, it's for analysing them.
I have not done pysch at university or anything of the sort. My analysis comes from my observations, in which I believe to be sound given the fact that I'm a loner who likes to look. Since I was a child, I was always looking. I guess I must have looked suspicious to some, though I did develop an acute sense of empathy for situations and knowledge of people's reactions to most situations. I can immediately read people and know instantly if I like a person or not. For this, I have been accused of being a snob. I call it being honest. Time-saving. Decisive.
We digress.
My colleagues are a mighty intimidating lot. Not only do you risk being surrounded by models in the lobby or over eager workies who wear their very own Prada, you will most definitely be surrounded by women like you, who work at a desk, do research, earn a similar wage though, looking immaculate at 8.30am and drinking an elegant espresso.
Female competitiveness. The looks up and down. The sly glances in the mirrored lifts. The power play. Oh we don't do it for men (it's true, males take note), there are no men in the building! We dress for ourselves and for other females. We compete, as if our clothes were a metaphor for how successful and beautiful we truly are. We know we can get men, good god it doesn't take clothes and if it did, who would want someone so pretentious as to tell the difference between our Stella from Target or Stella from London? I bite my tongue.
I love clothes. I love fashion. I remember buying my first Harper's Bazaar, in fact I still have it. My simple and unprofessional observation is this, females are putting themselves up against other females through fashion. This is nothing new of course. It also STILL does not translate into higher income, beauty, style (!) and above all honesty. Wear beautiful clothes, I would love you too. But please, do not pretend to be something you're not. I'm thinking you're a PA still. Or as my darling friend commented about a certain creative director, a cashed-up bogan (CUB). If you wear a pair of Christian Louboutin, have the class to pull them off.
I am in awe of their Prada, their Miu Miu, their Dior.
One question always beckons: Are they not working in the Australian media industry? Known for notoriously low wages and budgets that simply cannot stretch though will happily fly talents PA's first class and put them up in an adjoining bungalows?
Are they carrying their assets in the crook of their arm and balancing precariously on the ever-so-high-heels they seem intent on wearing? Or do they have wealthy husbands and march from the east straight to the fashion desks of the glossies as a glorified whatever, only to leave and have babies later that they can dress in this season's must haves?
Oh I'm not jealous. It does sound like that I accept, though my passion here is not to tear apart women for wearing better shoes then I could ever justify, it's for analysing them.
I have not done pysch at university or anything of the sort. My analysis comes from my observations, in which I believe to be sound given the fact that I'm a loner who likes to look. Since I was a child, I was always looking. I guess I must have looked suspicious to some, though I did develop an acute sense of empathy for situations and knowledge of people's reactions to most situations. I can immediately read people and know instantly if I like a person or not. For this, I have been accused of being a snob. I call it being honest. Time-saving. Decisive.
We digress.
My colleagues are a mighty intimidating lot. Not only do you risk being surrounded by models in the lobby or over eager workies who wear their very own Prada, you will most definitely be surrounded by women like you, who work at a desk, do research, earn a similar wage though, looking immaculate at 8.30am and drinking an elegant espresso.
Female competitiveness. The looks up and down. The sly glances in the mirrored lifts. The power play. Oh we don't do it for men (it's true, males take note), there are no men in the building! We dress for ourselves and for other females. We compete, as if our clothes were a metaphor for how successful and beautiful we truly are. We know we can get men, good god it doesn't take clothes and if it did, who would want someone so pretentious as to tell the difference between our Stella from Target or Stella from London? I bite my tongue.
I love clothes. I love fashion. I remember buying my first Harper's Bazaar, in fact I still have it. My simple and unprofessional observation is this, females are putting themselves up against other females through fashion. This is nothing new of course. It also STILL does not translate into higher income, beauty, style (!) and above all honesty. Wear beautiful clothes, I would love you too. But please, do not pretend to be something you're not. I'm thinking you're a PA still. Or as my darling friend commented about a certain creative director, a cashed-up bogan (CUB). If you wear a pair of Christian Louboutin, have the class to pull them off.
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