Now India isn’t a particularly fashionable country. A major part of the struggle to be fashionable lies between our socio-cultural construct and ‘log kya kahenge?’. I mean, lets admit it, there are just too many limiting factors. Rape scenes, sanskaar, mother-in-laws, society, izzat, tameez…it’s an inexhaustible list . So, the limited variety of Indian fashionistas either belong to the DSLR lenses or the extremely rich 0.1% of the Indian population.
I’ll tell you what’s fucked up about our style inspiration. While we are inspired by the celebrity wardrobe , the picture perfect movies set abroad, the progressive crowd around them, the chilled-out hippies inhabiting the movie set. It’s a tragedy when we ape the similar fashion statement because sadly outfits are all we can copy. Not the polished society from the movie set. Naturally, there’s a disastrous mismatch in what looks cool in the movies and how uncomfortable the same outfits make us feel in our regular Indian gullies.
But I’ll take up the case of the average Indians, who are under the pressure to be fashionable but fail to make it to the acceptable standards.
Are you high on motivation? Have mild to moderate self esteem and finally think that you’re at a respectable position in life? Do you somewhat believe that you’ve almost been able to switch to a healthier lifestyle and everything’s going alright for you? If that’s the case, I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but you’re still worth a piece of shit. Don’t believe me? Head to the nearest beauty parlour and get the youre-so-full-of-shit experience first hand.
I’m really not exaggerating. I don’t know about you guys but going to a beauty parlour has always been a psychologically traumatic experience for me. I would personally recommend it to everyone who’s having a happy day and wants to get a taste of what nervous trauma feels like. I’m cent percent certain that the marketing and sales strategy of the parlours majorly involve openly insulting you on your phenotype until you’re so full of grief that you decide that money is after all a presumed reality held by the mortals , and the transcendental reality of our filthy existence is THE BEAUTY PARLOUR. Continue reading “The Beauty Parlour Syndrome”
If you’re here for the bare-back photographs, I’d love to say Hi! Wish you a good day and leave you to judge me with your friends over the lunch-break. But, also, give me enough credit to have served you with a solid chunk of fodder to gossip about. My character, my morality, my ‘slut-like’ tendencies, my upbringing, my audacity, my education, my bra-size..oh-so-many topics to cover!
I activated Facebook after 2 years. What I thought would be a happy, nonchalant affair, where I would cool-ly browse through my ‘friends’ list and appreciate the good life soon turned out to be a nerve-racking experience.
You know that feeling that you get, when you see that the kid in class you never thought would do anything in life turns out to be insanely successful and a gazillion times more popular than you are? Well, pray for me, I just went through that. What sucks more is this social pressure of being the noble person who is supposed to be happy and feel ‘positive’ about their success. As much as I want to sound like a self-righteous, kind-hearted human, worthy of digital respect; I can’t say I am extremely happy for them. No, I am not. I get a hunch that you’re judging me by now, but I’m still learning the fine art of plastic positivity. Teach me how to be a saint, you noble human, you!
In an ideal world, It’s supposed to hit me, like a firebolt, that my clock is ticking and I have to take charge of my own life. I should not let laziness handicap my dreams. This is exactly when I should rise from the ashes of laziness, like a strong-willed phoenix and transform myself into a proactive adult! Just like the movies. Nothing remotely similar happened, though. It did hit me like a firebolt, but I hogged on a jar of expired blueberry cookies to get over the success stories. EASY.
For a long time I thought of myself as the epitome of wannabe fashion. Not kidding. But as shallow as little knowledge and inflated ego is, I failed to understand why designers design bizarre outfits for the runway! Do they really think people would buy them?! Even worse, I couldn’t get it why the fashionistas and fashion critics quote them with such high regards for creating something like
I met a guy who I thought could be the potential love of my life. He was witty, sharp and intensely into numerology ( sounds bit of an oxymoron), but you gotta deal with that combination throughout this post. He brought to my notice that my birth planets are ominously aligned. I am under the influence of Saturn(Satan?) for the next 9 years of my life which directly translates to having a hard time succeeding in my career and love-life REGARDLESS of how hotshot a lover I am or how jealous I make you feel. Continue reading “The Other Chick”
Once upon a time, there lived a young woman, who felt less real with each passing day.
I started this blog as a means of creative expression and the realization that too many thoughts intertwine amongst themselves and form an existential knot if kept in the mind along with the hormones and blood and cerebrospinal fluid swimming across it. I had to give my mind a digital identity which is ironical because a digital identity is so much more in demand than a real identity. Continue reading “Identity Crisis”