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Copyright 2004 by N. Julius |
Our Baubles, Ourselves There is a whole world of stylishness that overwhelms and frightens me. Accessories. Earrings. Necklaces. Sunglasses. Wrist watches. Did you know that there are women in this world who actually use wrist watches as a fashion statement? They have vast collections that they constantly update and alternate in order to finish off their outfits just so. I didn't know that. In fact, I fear that. It seems to me that the only real function of a wrist watch is to supply you with an accurate reading of the current time. If you start altering the mission statement of a wrist watch, if you suddenly make it all about coordinating and accentuating, that calls into question the whole artificial construct of time. After all, why do I have to be at work at 8:30 in the morning if 8:30 in the morning is subordinate to my own personal style? It leads to chaos, I tell you. Chaos. This is what accessories do to me. They make me doubt myself. They make me lose track of the fabric of reality. I just don't know how to master them. At some point, on some level, they're always taking over and usually working against me. I can appreciate when things look pretty; I just don't really see how they relate to me in particular. I almost never shop for jewelry. I just don't trust it. In another of the world's great genetic mysteries, my mother is an accessory genius. Not only does she work with local jewelers to design intricate settings for her precious stones, she also makes her own signature line of necklaces, earrings and bracelets. She is bold and confidant in her designs and materials, using textures that pique the interest of the most suspicious accessory detractor. She also has an extensive color palate so that even her fashion-impaired daughter can figure out how to incorporate them into her wardrobe.
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