Friday, February 10, 2012

Jillian, Age 31

Jillian Arnold, Activist, Summer 1992

She's tired.

Tired of your pointless excuses.  The countless reasons you give, for the endless torture she takes, mean nothing to her.  They never have, and never will. 

She's tired of your twisted logic.  Two left shoes never made for one good fit.  Yet you go on believing you can match ignorance with arrogance --- and end up with something less than disastrous.  It never works that way.    

She's tired of your endless hypocrisy.  Trash rolls off your finger tips minutes after her name leaves your lips.  If not seconds.  Look your mother in the face, shout those words of grace, but mean them for once.  She's never felt your love. 

She's tired of bearing your burdens.  EARTH is tired of absorbing your bad choices --- of feeling the consequences of your selfish acts, greedy endeavors, pointless injuries.  You keep testing her, and she never wants to let you down. 

But, the fact of the matter is...
She's tired. 

In Jillian's Closet... 
Jillian's Closet

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Tatianna, Age 17

Fellow Jersey native/fashion blogger, Danielle Villano, brings us this week's guest post about a girl who knows exactly how to stand out in a crowd.  A picture of lilac girlie-ness herself, Villano's own blog Love and Look Pretty showcases all the "sweet, simple, and fun" delights that make this 20 year old creative writing student's world go round.  A fan of blogs like Delightfully Tacky and A Life In The Fashion Lane, Villano admits to not being able to live without her sheer black blouse by Lush ("I love it tucked into jeans or paired with leggings and a black bandeau") --- and when you're counting down the clock till the big 2...1..., love (and life) looks pretty darn good! 

Tatianna Patil, Student, Winter 2007

     She is waiting for someone, outside of the library.  She’s certainly not from around here; her boots are not made for New England snow, and her lipstick is a harsh slash in her icy surroundings.  Still, she is warm, and we all gravitate towards her.
     Her eyes remind us of Shakespearean sonnets - the kind we’re forced to read in stuffy English classrooms.   The pink hue of her cheeks has us conjuring up verses of our own.

       Rosebuds in bloom, sweet milk-white maiden…   
     We scrawl odes to her in our composition notebooks as she blinks snow flurries off her long lashes.  We wonder who has left her standing outside for so long, but she doesn’t seem to be bothered by the weather.  Only occasionally does she glance at a watch on a slender wrist. 
     We wonder if she’s a goddess in disguise.  We wonder if she’s a snow angel, or a spirit of winter past.  We sit and ponder her comings and goings as the snow melts around her and, surely, it becomes spring.  We sit and ponder as the school bell rings, signaling class time, and we’re sent scampering like frightened rabbits across the green.

In Tatianna's Closet...

We Wrote Sonnets

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

Eloise, Age 24

Eloise Verdante, Curator, Spring 1969

Was it easy?
Dismantling my brick walls,
with your bare hands,
compost of cries
buried in the ducts of my eyes?
Did you even have to try?
Or did it come naturally?
The way monkeys are born knowing how to climb a tree,
Is it instinctual 
the ability you have to
move me? 
I wonder.
Who taught you how to touch?
Never mind touch,
How to melt away my melancholy days and nights,
one long-drawn lick at a time,
'till you reach the center of my
unadulterated mind,
capturing that elusive spoil no one else could find.
And as the tick
of the tocks
of my clocks unwind,
you unwrap a lost soul from a delicate foil
so divine,
and genuine,
that when all is said and done,
I can hardly believe
it's mine. 
In Eloise's Closet...
Eloise's Closet

*The quote above is a fictionalized account inspired by the people and fashion of a photograph found here.*

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

Jolene, Age 18

Kaleigh Hamilton, fashion darling and creator of took off from her busy blogging schedule this week to bring us our second guest post below.  This 23 year old, uber photogenic administrative assistant/owner of Pish Posh Couture (a hair, makeup and custom accessory boutique) admits to always having "a book or four" in tow and is a fan of (among other things) blogs like Cheeky Cheeky and Kelli Murray, cookie dough, fur wedges from Target, and black “wet-look” pants from Pacsun.  WE are a fan of HER.  Many thanks for the post darling! --- Aleah Rae 

Jolene Roxbury, Student, Fall 1967

    Free Love. Summer of Love. The Hippie Movement.  Jolene had heard all the terms. What people didn’t seem to realize was she didn’t really care about the reasons behind it all; she had just wanted a free ticket out of her small town to experience something new and fun and adventurous. Her family was terrified she would become “one of them” but she wasn’t so sure that was a bad thing anymore. So far the summer had been rushing by, a crazy, wonderful, colorful blur that surrounded Jolene like a tornado --- catching her up and bringing her along to new and different places. While there had been some uncomfortable moments (She just couldn’t accept the fact that sleeping on the ground with a group of total strangers was better for her spirit then a nice fluffy bed), Jolene hadn’t truly experienced anything that made her want to run screaming back to her old life. Nor did she think she would “burn in hell” like the local pastor had shouted at her when she drove away on the bus that was unwelcome in that dusty community she had called home. Years later Jolene would look back and realize just how lucky she had been to get through that summer in one piece, with her innocence and naivety intact. But for now Jolene was as giddy as…well, exactly what she was, a school girl. She was away from home, finding knowledge and experiencing the world. And wasn’t that what it was all about? Or something close to it?

In Jolene's Closet...


Jolene by kaleighmh featuring floral summer dresses

*The quote above is a fictionalized account inspired by the people and fashion of a photograph found here.*

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

Arianna, Age 23

Arianna Hidalgo, Exchange Student, Summer 1974

 "Ari, what is it?"  Deep in deductive thought, I can still hear him across the growing mental distance. 

"I don't know yet!", I reply quickly.  

Chad looks down at me half smiling, as the ashy black rocks he stands on show off their tide lines to the shore below.  He's tall --- even taller than usual --- and his lean body blocks the sun like a small "l" against a capitol "O".  Diosel es guapo.  His golden blond hair ruffles my attention, but a movement I can feel smoothes it back to reality --- there's a creature in my hand. 

"Looks like some sort of crustacean.  I think it's in the hermit crab family."  My ruling is final, and Chad's mood too relaxed to appeal. 

My first guess was more than an educated one.  It was instinctual.  Mamá gave birth to me on an anchored yacht --- or so the story goes --- on some foreign longitude no one can quite remember.  My first breaths were of salt air, imprinting the sea skin deep into my very being.   

Chad is still staring --- not so secretly for once --- at me from his rocky podium, and I wish just for a moment, we could switch places.  I long to be able to see what he sees, in me.  But from the look in his eyes, I can tell it's something splendid. 

In Arianna's Closet...
In Arianna's Closet

In Arianna's Closet by thequeenknowsbest featuring embellished sandals

*The quote above is a fictionalized account inspired by the people and fashion of a photograph found here.*