It's odd to be posting after such a long absence - nearly a month and a half - but I felt like I should re-invest myself into this blog before I find myself completely out of the loop. I have thought about why I have lacked any means of motivation to post and I find it is two things: one, the weather has become an obstacle for it does not permit me to layer and thus I have found myself incessantly moping around and about my closet and as a result: two, my personal taste in style has been making a bit of a transition. Finding I can only generally wear one article of clothing at a time, I began acquiring a taste for collared shirts (don't ask me why because I don't know either. Miu Miu Spring 2010 could possibly be the catalyst but as much as I adore the collection I don't believe it had that much of an overwhelming influence in relevance to this 'style transition' I'm currently discussing. Also I feel like reading Virginia Woolf's The Waves had something to do with it but I haven't really discerned this yet and I'm beginning to digress so). Irrelevantly, I've found myself growing fonder of late 19th century and mid 20th century style as of late, a contrast in taste considering my favourite designers consistently challenge the constructs of what we know as fashion through their radical designs (McQueen and Chalayan primarily come to mind for a multitudinous amount of reasons). I'm not implying that I only admire post-modern designs, simply that they attracted my admiration more than collections that derived inspiration from the eras I currently admire with such a simplistic approach. Possibly now I'm just broadening my view rather than completely changing my style. I can't be entirely sure just yet. I'm writing this post with my mind in a rut regarding this topic so I might come off a bit misunderstood. Still trying to put some pieces together. However, I believe I should work on doing that in a different fashion than digressing in an oppressively constant manner on this here blog, don't you think?

So yeah. I've been relentlessly browsing vintage photographs of the past as of late, generally from the Tumblrs I follow or the Google LIFE archives. I've been posting the photographs consistently on my Tumblr so you can frolic over there if you want to see more but for now I'll simply post a few here for a taste.

Teenage girl having nail polish touches added to her sunglasses. Oklahoma, July 1947.

Teenage girl styling her hair. US, December 1948.

The Indian Tribal version of Givenchy Fall '08!

Teenage girl talking on a telephone. Missouri, December 1944. Photograph by Nina Leen.

Victorian era bourgeois sisters I'm presuming. Date unknown.

Young girl blowing a big bubble from a bubble gum. Photograph by Bob Landry, 1946.

"Young Pioneer Palace in Leningrad", year unknown.

St Louis, 1944.

I wore this outfit several weeks ago on a day where the weather finally allowed me to layer without dying if I stepped out into the blistering heat for more than five seconds.

(Pink blouse from Old Navy. All the skirts and the apron are thrifted except for one of the tulle layers which is a tutu from the kid's section as H&M five bucks baby. The socks are from the men's section at Urban Outfitters.)

Basically being in a style limbo plus lacking motivation for doing anything are the catalysts to my infrequent posting. I want to say I'll post again soon but I don't want to lie to you. I'll end this post here with something I wrote a while ago because I have started writing again on a regular basis just recently. Later days dudes.

it is true i attempt to suppress the feeling of indigence that perpetuates whenever memory is rekindled, mentioned in a whisper through the crevices of thought, working it’s way deep into the core of my mind. i blame my present tense by contemplating my recent past, and the actions committed regarding the circumstance. but this suppression is merely that - an attempt, susceptible to a demise like a human heart after death. that potentiality begins to decompose until it is nothing but a canvas marked with blank failures. as i realize this, the contrast of body and emotion begins to wither and they begin to form a link; they are brought together by collision in an objective sphere. my mind focuses on the fluctuation of resentment while my body battles its uncontrollable nature, and for an instance my being is at war with itself. but only for an instance, for one side eventually overpowers the other. in the end, my emotions become a lover’s figure under a silk slip, unsheathed at once, instantaneously.