It’s been 365 days since Seven Inch Stilettos was born, and I’m kind of overwhelmed that I have to write a post about this. Instead of reflecting on the past (because I hate reflections and never write them when asked to in school), I want to take this opportunity to share a little about the essence of fashion in my eyes, for those who are up for a short read (and for those who are sitting in a comfortable position right now and are content to remain seated for the next ten minutes.)
If I had to name a motivation for this blog besides my creepy yet totally justifiable obsession with fashion, it would be all the little faces sitting underneath the great big “JOIN THIS SITE” button, or in other words, all 301 of you who are so dedicated to my blog. You have all helped it grow in your own ways, and this post is to thank all of you for each and every comment, compliment, email, piece of praise, nibble of advice, constructive piece of criticism, and everything else in between.
(It might seem a little weird that I'm putting a bunch of pictures of weird fairy lights and fireworks and stuff, but I immediately associate celebration and happiness with pretty cute pictures of lights and fireworks. Speaking of fireworks, the 4th of July fireworks were amazing. I watched them from the roof of my uncle's boat and they were beyond magical.
Random, off-topic interlude right there.)
I honestly don’t know what I’d do without fashion. It sounds pathetic, because many of us assume a false, superficial definition of fashion. And I’ll try not to launch into a meaning-of-fashion essay, but fashion has changed my view of everything I see in this world into a piece of surreal inspiration. It’s become such a glamorous industry of fame and stardom, yet many true fashion legends bask in the comfort of knowing the primitive, vulnerable and raw nature of the essence of fashion. Style in the early days didn’t comprise of hi-tech runway shows or mass-produced clothing for overrated chain stores. Fashion was a piece of art, a few pieces of cloth stitched and styled to perfection, draped on a mannequin’s body by a man with a mouthful of pins and a cigar, a sketchpad, and a passion.
I would post a celebratory outfit picture of myself, but considering I'm bundled up quite unglamorously in hoodies and jeans, cuddled up on a lobby chair on a nearby hotel to get wi-fi. Ireland is certainly not the best place to execute your most fashionable outfits, it's way too chilly!
It’s been 365 days since Seven Inch Stilettos was born, and it’s all thanks to each and every one of you reading this right now.
