What's Up, Doc?

You know me. I don't really write about fashion in the format of sentences and words unless it's something that really gets me excited. Today, I'm going to take a moment and appreciate the sheer awesomeness that is of Doc Marten shoes.

It's no secrete that I'm stupid crazy in love with Doc Martens seeing how they're featured in over 75% of my outfits. I've been a proud owner of my Docs for over four years and have found ways to make them look great with anything and everything. I wear them pretty much all seasons long and have even rocked them at formal affairs.

This is not a sales pitch for Doc Martens but rather an example of high quality fashion and timeless aesthetic. By owning a pair of shoes that is functional, stylish, durable and versatile, it creates so much potential for creativity, development for personal style and less waste and consumerism. Which, in a way, embodies a lot of how I see fashion and what it means to be a conscientious fashion enthusiast.

If you haven't gotten yourself a pair of these puppies, I think you really should get on it!

Sunday Outfit Photo Dump (#2)

It's outfit dump time. This past week has been hard to dress for due to the unrelenting rain we've been having in Vancouver. I managed to pull some decent outfits together with the versatility of grandpa pants and vintage booties. 

Of course layering is also a must if you live in Canada. That and thermal socks.

The light sweaters are slowly making their out of my daily wardrobe as the coldness encourages the use of more hefty knitwear. Next week, I'll be all draped in oversized sweaters and chunky wools. Can't wait.

"A Horde of Sluts and Ragamuffins Surges Forth"

I made dinner. Now my apartment is coated in the smell of Chinese food. It may be a good thing for some who loves Chinese food (ie. Jeremy). Not so good when I wake up in the middle of the night gagging on the smell of fried oyster mushrooms.

Something I realized about food and cooking: I love the first and am very good at the latter (seriously, I one time cooked a pot roast, "taste-blindedly"; as in I'm vegetarian and wouldn't taste the dish I created but still cooked it to perfection. Or so I was told). After this recent discovery, I can add cooking to my hobbies repertoire.  

Something completely off topic but will serve to relate to whole cooking thing is that I want to get an iphone or some sort of devise through which I can access Instagram. That way I can document every creative thing I do all the time, such as the food that I make.

I wore a fur jacket and got overheated right away so a nice light blazer is what I settled on. 

Adult Lessons

I get called a "hipster" way too much. Most of time by "non-hipsters". I've been called a hipster so much that I've not only started to identify myself as one but have began to make excuses for buying ridiculous outfits.

For example, I bought these white jeans on Urban Outfitters and wore it to work the other day. I got to work and realized just how impractical and flashy white jeans are. Plus, WHO THE FUCK STILL WEARS WHITE JEANS?! 

Apparently someone who thinks she's too awesome and cool and dyes her hair two colours does. This is what I am now. I have reached a point in my mid 20's where I've actually learned to truly appreciate what it feels like to just do things. You know, really do them right. "Hey, wouldn't it be awesome if my hair was differently coloured?" "OH MAN, TOTALLY, I'M GOING TO FUCKING DO IT" or "I was always told that white pants were a big fashion faux pas." "WELL, I DON'T GIVE A FUCK BECAUSE I HAVE JEANS IN EVERY SHADE BUT WHITE."

This is the lesson learned as an adult: the things I do matter to me because they make me a more actualized individual.

When Zombies Attack

Unlike others, I truly believe that If the world was over-taken by zombies, I'd be one of the first to die. You know, like the ones you see in zombie movies who only made a guest appearance, for like, two minuets in the beginning of the movie then suffers from the most brutal maul by a hoard of zombies. Yeah, that's going to be me.

Putting yourself in zombie scenarios are useful sometimes for assessing your level of common sense and the ability to make split-second decisions. One of the most popular hypothetical situations I often contemplate is whether I'd be able to kill someone I love who's been infected. If you ask people that, most of them will probably say "yes" (I know I would), but again these people have probably watched a lot of zombie movies and get super frustrated when some teary-eyed character is reluctant to shoot his zombie brother in the face, consequently dooming himself and the rest of his surviving party members. In this tough dilemma, people often base their judgement on the most utilitarian option (bash in your zombie mother's skull and save yourself and the rest), but what most people don't really take into consideration is that to truly be utilitarian, one oftentimes need to be ruthless. The problem is, people don't want to be cruel, especially not to someone they care(d) about.  I mean, think about it. Would you really, really be able to kill your best friend, in the midst of a zombie frenzy (not to mention, you probably already witnessed a great deal of brutality by this point)? After surviving for so long, having overcome so much, wouldn't you want to fully commit to whatever shred of hope you have left in you that maybe, just maybe the love of your life won't come back from the dead and tear you into pieces? And it's precisely that hope that tears us apart. Reduces us into a rubble of emotional, nonthinking, anti-heros. That's probably what I will be, and for that reason alone, I think it's be best I'm not on your team if you think you're going to salvage whatever little is left of mankind during the zombie apocalypse. 

Freudian

For the nth time today, someone called me "small" and "cute" but this time it was different because usually those words would annoy me to no end. But today, instead of cringing immediately following the echoic impression of those adjectives, I simply responded to them with a mental "whatdiyagonnado" shrug. And that in itself seemed a tad strange to me. I couldn't help but wonder if this new found indifference was a result of me getting used to being labeled that all the time or simply a classic case of "learned helplessness" where I've pretty much lost all hope in trying to get people to see me as more than that. Either way, both options indicate defeat. I think I'm a classic case of someone who has deep-seated inferiority complex and being constantly referred to as "small", "cute", "petite" or sometimes just plain" awwwwww" are just the type reinforcements for sustaining this underlying anxiety.
Seeing how some women out there are obsessed with "sizing-down" they would probably want to shoot me for complaining about having a small stature. However, I would just like to justify my annoyance with the fact that being called "small" may seem like flattery in today's "fat-prejudice" society, the truth is I (along with my fellow "tiny" people) do not feel complimented. In fact, I feel somewhat insulted whenever people comment on my size. It makes me feel patronized, belittled and de-individualized. More importantly, when and why did people start considering "small" as a positive trait to characterize someone? Moreover, the worst part of it is that whenever I would speak up against those "sizeist" comments, I get weird looks like I'm crazy for not wanting to be perceived as "small". As if I'm oblivious or simply stupid for not recognizing that they have just given me a praise. In in that sense, I think "small" people are at a disadvantage because while "bigger" people can rant and express their offense, us small folks are not only "not allowed" to protest, we are also sometimes expected to simply accept or even thank those who "awarded" us with those labels. I think there should be a new category of prejudice called "sizeism" and it should apply not only to those who are over-weight but also those who are smaller than the average population.
(I put the words "small" and "big" in quotations because I don't endorse their connotations or their over-usage in describing people whom we really don't know anything about.)

This outfit was inspired by a someone on lookbook. To compensate for my lack of height, I wore high-waisted pants and a crop top, but regardless of my attempt at achieving a few "visual inches", I was still called "small".