So I missed a post last Thursday. However, if you want an apology for it, I’m sorry I’m not sorry. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I’m not going to make any promises I can’t keep. Right now, this free spirit can’t commit to perfect timing. I realize this is going to rub those who enjoy following a schedule the wrong way, but I’m not a planner. To be honest, I have no real excuse. I don’t remember what in the world I was doing, but I do know I wasn’t blogging. Chances are likely I was worrying about Ebola or ISIL. Maybe I was looking into buying stock in HAZMAT.
Since I’m feeling particularly candid, I will tell the three of you who are actually taking the time to read my nonsense the truth (thanks for taking the time to read my nonsense, by the way). I care less about the clothes than I do about the writing. Side note: This leather jacket is so well priced you would think it’s from a lesser retailer than Scoop… Back to my point: I am not learning how to blog to talk about my style. I don’t really have a style. If I have the time and the wherewithal to make myself look presentable, I dress according to an era I’ve obsessed over or a character who’s wardrobe I loved in a movie or even the way a song made me feel. There’s no rhyme or reason to my wardrobe. I like to play dress up but I’m terribly lazy.
The real reason I’ve agreed to blog about fashion is because I fantasize that someone will scroll over the photos to read my text and connect with my words. I day dream that someone will say “gosh golly, she may be a narcissist, but that Cathy’s daughter really does know how to tickle the keyboard.” Realistically this probably won’t happen, because I’m unorganized. Also because, well, who is actually reading anymore? Nowadays, imagery is more powerful than a five paragraph essay.
In any case, true to my theme-driven form, I’ve put on my schoolgirl dress (which is on sale for nothing and even less if you use the code “save20″. You’re welcome.) and I’m ready to be educated on the world of blogging. I swear on my metallic Balenciaga bag that I’m going to buckle down into this role I’ve accepted on my mother’s beautiful blog, and I’m going to study how to do this right.
Just kidding. I’d rather run with the bulls wearing nothing but these leopard flats than swear on Balenciaga. I know I say I’m not that into fashion, but that’s the holy grail of handbags. That’s blasphemy.
See you when I see you,
Photos by Mary Summers