self - The Seventh Sphinx

First of all, everything is unified, everything is linked together, everything is explained by something else and in turn explains another thing. There is nothing separate, that is, nothing that can be named or described separately. In order to describe the first impressions, the first sensations, it is necessary to describe all at once. The new world with which one comes into contact has no sides, so that it is impossible to describe first one side and then the other. All of it is visible at every point.

— P.D. Ouspensky

I was smitten with this little feather-embellished clutch the moment I saw it. The soft cream leather, the abundance of glossy copper and teal turkey feathers. These are colors I never can resist, anyway. These are my colors.

Picked up this little gem at NYX Studio in Cambridge, one half of the duo known as Observatory Boutique (a shared space with a talented florist). This is a wonderful shop with a distinctive, personal-feeling collection of jewelry, antiques, and charmingly potted succulents. One delights in finding such indie spots, where you can speak directly with the designer and have that sensation of genuinely patronizing the business that is lost once a company reaches a certain size.

It’s always refreshing to me to find a beautiful object. One needs the nourishment of beauty. One needn’t buy it, of course…but it’s not surprising that I would often want to possess beautiful discoveries. I have clearly been influenced by our materialistic, capitalist culture. Not that I buy every little thing I like, but I sense a desire to possess that is often, on reflection, immature-feeling, or hollow-feeling. I’ve been trying to discern subtler nuances in the urge to possess things, such that it is only best of the best that actually comes home, though I still have a ways to go, and sometimes realize that some lackluster item has gotten through the filters.

The ‘best’ things being, here, the most personally harmonious things. Those things which, if left behind, might haunt me. In the ideal scenario there is a rightness to these things, a mine-ness. They seem, effortlessly, as if they are meant to be mine, without question or doubt or debate. As if they are a natural piece of the intricate machine of me. Not critical, exactly, but part of the whole just the same. Part of a translation, maybe. One small word or phrase contributing to the translation of me, and in some cases a brief encapsulation of me. Who am I? Well, this about sums it up.

On some level I think it really does.

Winter is that time of year when those of all ages can get away with an otherwise unacceptable preponderance of pom poms. When the temperature drops suddenly I can forgive all manner of ridiculous and excessively cute hats. I am even sometimes charmed. This slouchy take on the classic winter pom pom knit hat looks great here, I think. The oversized pom adds a youthful, playful touch to the casually stylish neutrals.

I’ve yet to find a winter hat that I genuinely like and want to wear, and prefer to the absence of a hat. Hair problems, in part, but there’s also the issue of the hats being too cute. Cute is not really my look. That is, cutesy. Once in a while I’ll toe the line and am usually self-conscious as a result because it is unnatural to me. Or I’ll adopt an element that is abstractly cute but in the context of the rest of me it isn’t cute anymore; I overwhelm the cuteness until it reads more like eccentricity, or editorial—which is often a synonym for unwearable, in fashion—flair. This is my theory.

*Though these are external perspectives, and not words I use about myself or find internally useful (‘sexy’ being another term I would not even think of without a gaze, without an other), because I cannot see myself without knowing that I am myself, rendering objective judgments largely irrelevant/impossible. The age-old problem of being oneself.

Adorability does seem like one of those things you cannot achieve on purpose, though, anyway (except quite good actors, maybe, and even this is in the eye of the beholder). Ex. any given toddler in that stage where they realize that people think they are cute when they do certain things, and promptly stop being particularly cute. Premeditation spoils the whole effect.

I’m looking at hats, though. There are a few under consideration. We’ll see. One has a pom pom and little hearts. There is a possibility I’ll have to redact most of this post.

Tag: self

of a feather

on the street: the pom pom