Poets and their clothes.

Okay, okay, I'm jumping on, finding some intriguing things happening in Laura's post today...

For age appropriateness, I've got to hand it to Nada for not giving a fuck about her t-shirt inspired skirt and to Laura (is it okay to say this?) for still rocking the off-the-shoulder T with visible brightly colored bra strap on occassion...yes, it's usually partially hidden by a scarf, it's true. But she rocks it. I think I'm too old for that, but maybe there's an in-between age that it doesn't work on, where Laura can get away with it just as well as or better than a teenager?

Tangential example on the same note: Nicoloff buying his faux-Ray Bans says "I think I'm just old enough to get away with this without looking like a total teenage poser. I was at least alive in the '80s."

I recently bought a pair of vintage lace-up ankle boots on my lunch break at work and called them Alli-boots. I can't believe I just admitted that on the internet. I was almost dissuaded from buying them, for the Alli-ness of them, copying a friend etc. It seemed very uncool. But assured myself that I'd pair them with generally girlier things than Alli would, so it was okay. (Alli, forgive me). And they're comfortable. Really comfortable. And today I'm wearing them with grey tights, a light blue skirt that's not pleated but has all sorts of seams to look like it's pleated, and a really girly ruffly white button up. And a necklace. And two rings. Very foofy/froofy. I am little bit schoolgirl, and this morning Michael called it "affected nerdiness." But it's girly/foofy/froofy affected nerdiness. I don't know. I'm at work, my tattoos are hiding.

I just read "Against Pluralism," where Hal Foster writes, "More and more, art is directed by a cyclical mechanism akin to that which governs fashion, and the result is an ever-stylish neo-pop whose dimension is the popular past. An arriere-avant garde, such art functions in terms of returns and references rather than the utopian and anarchic transgressions of the avant-garde."

So what, if anything, does our clothing say about the art and work we're doing? Does recycled fashion, vintage boots, 80s throwback sunglasses (which Michael preferred to refer to as French New Wave), hint that we're recycling our poetries?

There's been talk (see Erika Staiti's Canessa Reading, where, you should note, she's wearing a Peter Pan-esque fedora and a great tie) asking the Bay Area scene to return to discussions of work instead of, you know, afterparties. Afterparties have appeared a lot. And so now I'm thinking about "why" we don't talk about our work much here right now. Is it easier to say Are you going to the bar? I like that tie. Nice boots. Great necklace! You getting another drink? Is there an afterafterparty? than to ask ourselves if we're recycling our work, as Foster suggests? If our work is worth talking about?

If we talked about our work at the afterparty, what would we wear?

And remember when Brandon Brown wouldn't have been caught dead in a white linen blazer, but instead donned black pants, black button-up, black tie, and red chucks? Every day?

I agree that some levels of costuming are fun, for the few hours of attention that I usually forgo, but I'm also a fan of intentionally over- or under-dressing. Fuck it. Wear a cocktail dress to your reading (okay, I did that at my Canessa reading in April. I had just come from a wedding, but decided not to change), or come in your rattiest. I'm down with that. Or if you're Brandon Brown, rock that three-piece. This does not successfully work for everyone.

Walking down College this morning I saw this sign: SUMMER CLOTHES OUT SALE.

Also, I'm having lunch with Lindsey Boldt today. Maybe I'll report back about what she's wearing.