Fuck Pseudo-Stylists!

by HelluvaGirl

I got really pissed off by one article today. It’s in Lithuanian, but basically discusses the extent to which the choice of stockkings defines a woman’s inner culture, her inherent sense of time and place as well as the ability to juggle correct appearances in protocol-defined situations. I do realise royal receptions, bureau requirements and Seimas exist; however, such texts by the knowing ones smell of the attempt to give a meaning to thick and expensive volumes on etiquette and how we, mortals, oughta behave.

As the author of the text has it, “often abused combination of rather thick nude shiny-lycra stockings and mini skirt” is unforgivable and practically shocking style faux-pas. You know what I think? A couple of years ago, sequinned bling-bling mini dress in the lunch hour would’ve earned a crucifixion on the cross of tastelessness, while today it’s one of the most encouraged choices of an it girl. So, if next season Karl, Stella and Donatella unanimously state that “rather thick nude shiny-lycra stockings” is in the fashion Olympus, it shall become a norm? And they will flood the high street.

Please don’t start with the “you mistake fashion for etiquette”: the very same article on stalkings forbids to appear at formal events stockingless, although Kate Moss didn’t do anything wrong having popped round at the Queen’s tea ceremony bare-legged “as Kate Moss can answer the question ‘who I am’ as follows: I am one of the most famous supermodels of the world with a turn for rebelliousness and bohemian lifestyle; I am a trend-setting personality who knows rules so well I can break them, making it my personal style.”

Geeez 🙂 Here’s what: people, relax, stop brainwashing and instigating fear of pseudo-stylists. I’m for women knowing some etiquette, but much more for those being naturally charming, not allowing all sorts of “stylists” and etiquette nerds to make clusterfuck in our heads – they publish expensive books and make useless TV shows trying to give meaning to their own existence and persuade the rest of us do not know enough and are forever on the dangerous edge of violating sacred rules of etiquette, style, fashion and protocol.

Fuck you stylists! I am myself. And it’s not status. I don’t need status to afford myself the choice of appearance. I’ve got a bit of taste, a bit of intelligence, a bit of rebelliousness and loads of imagination. Yes, I felt very uneasy in London, as I found out too late we were going to see opera – I hate going to opera in my jeans – I guess this is the inner sense of time and place. But fuck instructions on what stockings I oughta match with my Thai silk dress when we go to a posh restaurant and if I’m allowed to roll up my satin gloves on a sweater when I feel like it.

Oh, I do love glossy fashion mags but these are not instructions to me – more like pretty pictures and the source of ideas. And this pseudo-stylist mafia prevailing our country’s publicity, well, they are really getting on my nerves. Stop fucking people’s brains and censoring their choice to look original!