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 by thequeenknowsbest featuring the row sunglasses

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 by loveandlookpretty featuring a trench coat

Eloise, Age 24

Eloise Verdante, Curator, Spring 1969

Was it easy?

Dismantling my brick walls,

with your bare hands,
making

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,

taste.

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,

Unrefined,
and genuine,

that when all is said and done,
I can hardly believe

it's mine. 

In Eloise's Closet...

Eloise's Closet by thequeenknowsbest featuring a short sleeve dress

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



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".  Dios, el 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 by thequeenknowsbest featuring embellished sandals

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

Camille, Age 32

Many thanks to our first guest blogger, Emma Olson of crescendoing couture for today's post.  Her refreshingly unique blog "marries music and fashion by creating a unique look and giving it a song."  The 24 year old explains:  "It's a way for me to be involved with my two biggest passions and helps me feel an even deeper connection to some of my favorite tunes."  Olson's fave blogs (for the moment) are http://missladyfinger.com & http://iwanttobeher.com.  And her favorite piece? "My current favorite piece of clothing also happens to be one of my newest - a turquoise vintage wool coat that I picked up from my favorite hometown thrift store. It's so simple in design, but the color is so bold, and it's incredibly warm, perfect for my Minnesota winters." --- Aleah Rae

Camille Stephenson, Consultant, Fall 2002

     Camille cautiously stepped off the empty stage and exited the theater. There, it's done, she thought. Her first audition. When was the last time she was so nervous? Did she even get through her monologue? She could hardly remember. All she remembered walking out of that hopelessly plain space, was the faces of the director and producer. Blank, disinterested. She had anticipated that they would be rather cold, but it was still unsettling to receive no reaction as she delivered this heartbreaking tale of how she lost her mother. She had never heard someone say “thank you” so disingenuously. “Thank you, please leave, we've got a lot of spirits to crush today.”
     As she walked back to her apartment, Camille couldn't help but notice how much more aware of her surroundings she was. Her senses had become heightened somehow since she decided to focus on acting and walk away from her previous life. Everything was brighter, the air was more pungent. She had been doing her best to incorporate this new recognition to aesthetic detail into her work. She even brought her boyfriend to tears when she practiced; he told her that he forgot who she was as she spoke. It was like she became someone else. That was how she had to think from now on. She was the character. Nothing mattered to her anymore but being able to understand and communicate the human experience to theatergoers.
     But everything was now in the hands of that director and that producer, and whether they felt anything from her performance, Camille felt exhilarated. For the first time in her life, there was a very real opportunity for her to fail. And she couldn't wait. --- By Emma Olson

In Camille's Closet

Camille by emmairene featuring a burberry cape

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

Nina, Age 31

Nina Tan, Defense Attorney, Winter 1990

   My father always told me this moment would come.
 

     The right side of his brain has never quite been able to fathom how I could give up the stage for the stand.  "I raised you to create your own music", he would say, "not to play someone else's."   

    He had been disappointed before though.  When my mother left us.  When my brother went into rehab.  But, this time was unlike any other.  This time, the disappointment in his voice was peppered with fear.  Allergic to change, I could tell he was afraid for me every time I'd introduce him to one of my law school study mates.  They were a foreign species, and every paternal fiber in his being wanted to keep me from them --- from becoming one of them. 

     But, I am one of them now; and like a good little lawyer, I listen intently to my new client tell his side of her story.  My sympathetic tone and reassuring eyes convince him I am on his side.  Hunting spoils line the tall walls of his old family cabin, and I wonder how he can lie this easily with so many pairs of glassy eyes glaring down at him.
  

My father always told me this moment would come. 

In Nina's Closet... 

Nina's Closet by thequeenknowsbest featuring leather jackets

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

Doreen, Age 34



All Photos © John Midgley/Stockland Martel.

Doreen Morales, Costume Designer, Fall 1943

     I have it down to a science now.  When I turn my Singer just right, I fits perfectly in this old splintered crate.  I don't mind packing most days.  But today feels different ... 

     The morning's cold rain has muddied my spirits, and I shiver because the next time I hear his voice, I'll be too far away to feel its warm raspy crackle.  The rain smells strange too --- a mixture of exotic animal fur and year old dust collected from all the cities we've visited.  My stomach runs through its normal tumbling routine, as if it needed the practice, and by mid afternoon the rain has stopped.

     From no where Cesar barks a suggestion masquerading as a command.  I oblige --- partly because it's a good one, and partly out of habit.  The atmosphere seems freshly laundered now.  I decide to inhale. 

    Cesar is wearing the bow tie I birthed from a belly of boredom one spring afternoon; and I, a scarf embroidered with a single leaf not unlike like the multitude Fall would harvest from my grandmother's front yard each and every year.

In Doreen's Closet...

Doreen's Closet by thequeenknowsbest featuring peep toe high heels

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

Nadiya, Age 27

Nadiya Gibson, Dance Instructor, Spring 2005

There's this bench in the park near the my studio.  And for the third time in a row, when I arrive brown paper bag in tow, someone else ... is sittin' on it. 

The nerve. 

Even a blind man could see how the imprints of my legs, rear and thighs are already engraved into its city-issued planks, like pairs of sockets with deep set eyes. 

The audacity.

Call me rude, but I refuse to comprise.  So when young kids and ole' heads stroll by with weary legs and a lustful eye, I guard my bench like a starving Southern warrior protecting that last piece ... of sweet potato pie. 

The thought!

And it just isn't working --- my mean girl stare.  This guy doesn't even seem to care!  Gesturing and mouthing, "Why don't we share?"

Ha! 

Lunch is almost over now.  Wasted my time on this tall, dark and han ... stranger!  Bright smile, sharp style, and numerous attempts to beguile.  Why don't I just "sit a while?"  He must be crazy!  Only five more minutes?  Well I guess I could ... 

Maybe?

In Nadiya's Closet ...

In Nadiya's Closet ... by thequeenknowsbest featuring high heels

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

Anna, Age 23

http://the-host.tumblr.com/post/13641834558/fel1pe-by-jay-maude

Anna Warwick, Executive Assistant, Spring 1974

      "On Fridays he is most predictable ..." 

Mr. Goodwin:  Morning golf at the country club.  Lunch at 1:00 --- The Hibachi House on Adventura --- with one of the partners (sake, shrimp and Sam are his usuals).  Back to the office for a short conference call at 3:15, and a jolly "Have a great weekend ladies" scheduled for 4:00.

     

Me:  Pick up his dress shirts from the Kims.  Confirm all of Monday's appointments.  Lunch --- a la me --- with Angela from the 4th floor round 1:30.  A dozen roses to his missus.  A single to his mistress.  Answer any general correspondence, and a cheery "Same to you sir" scheduled for 4:01.

     "... so Mrs. Goodwin, if you DO decide to go through with it, Friday is best." 

In Anna's Closet . . .

Anna's Closet by thequeenknowsbest featuring spike shoes

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

Helen, Age 19

Sabine. Seattle, WA. 2008. © Emiliano Granado

Helen Dumas, Student, Winter 1967

   "I'm surprised Mom let you keep that", Claire mumbles.  There's a tinge of frustration in her voice, and I'm sure the buttons are only partially to blame.  Claire is right.  "Mom doesn't know I have it", I reply.  It's tinge for tinge now. 
     A hole in his sleeve looks like a tiny a fiber wound --- one most likely acquired some chilly Coors night on campus.  And it smells like him too ... which isn't nearly as surprising as it should be, considering he was the last to wash it. 
   I never asked mom if it was okay.  Had I not rescued it, I know for a fact it would have just ended up in a place full of "good will" and bad memories.  What she doesn't know, won't get me in her bad graces.   
   Claire has finally figured out how to turn the flash off.  It's perfectly overcast outside, but thanks to a lack of drapery on our massive old windows, there is just enough natural light to color this shoot sad.  "I'm not changing into a dress.  I'll have to just wear this sweater.", was my only demand; and while a roll of her eyes was her only response, I can tell Claire is secretly tickled about capturing a little of us both in the same frame.  

In Helen's Closet . . .



Helen, Age 19 by thequeenknowsbest featuring high rise skinny jeans

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