ridiculous things.

After watching about half of the second season of Project Runway, and watching my darling and dear love of my life, Daniel Vosovic, lose to Chloe Dao, I sat down and wrote a song. And was promptly ashamed to be wasting paper on fashion—because I can’t dress to save my life.

I have always been puzzled by my complete and utter fascination with fashion, partly because I dress like a drunken mixture of a ho-bag and a bag lady. I have never matched, and I’ve always been too poor to dress like I mean it. The extent of my fashionableness is Target. I own two pieces of clothing by “high fashion” designers: a pair of capri jeans by Michael Kors (which are the love of my life), and a green chain mail like shirt by BCBG Max Azria… which has a hole in the fucking sleeve.

Anyhow, I will admit that I try. I really do. But my parents can’t afford to dress me well all the time—so I have a handful of shirts and one pair of jeans that are nice, and I wear those as much as I can, and when they’re in the wash, I look like white trash. Which is fine, I’ve accepted that.

But it makes it that much harder to watch something like Project Runway, and think “what would I kill to get to design clothing, for a living?” And then I always start looking back into applying to places like Parsons, or FIDM, and I get so excited again. And then I look down and remember that there is no way I would ever fit in at a place like that. And I could never afford to go there. Which is even worse, because it means that that road is closed to me. That opportunity isn't even there, because I'd have to sell my soul to the devil in order to go to a private art school. And they say America is the "land of opportunity".

And I'm even one of the lucky ones. My parents can afford to send me to community college. And so many parents can't even afford to do that for their kids. Fucking land of opportunity, my ass.

And I have pride, which is the worst thing of all. How could I have pride when I have nothing? I don’t understand myself. But I have a hard time shopping in thrift stores. Although, I think I’m going to have to start doing it more often, if I ever want to dig myself out of my fashion rut.

And I wonder if I’m just being ridiculously shallow and horrible. Because there are children starving in Africa. And while I may not dress to impress, I eat every day. I have clothing on my back. I have running water and a television to remind me of what I don’t have. And I remember what I do have, and I’m grateful. And I wish to god that I didn’t live in a western country, where I have to look to find suffering. Hell would be nice compared to earth, I think.

Strange how watching a couple hours of television can bring me to tears and frustration at myself, and at the world.

I’m thinking too much.