all that mattered was that we had loved the girls, and that they hadn't heard us calling.

I have never read The Virgin Suicides the way I did today, with death on the brain. Not my own, but just the general concept. (Note: try not to think about it. It hurts.) It made the entire book, especially the ending, mean something new to me. Something darker than I ever recognized it to be. 

Reading this blog is probably the best thing anyone can do after reading this book, whether it is for the first time or the tenth. It makes you think, even if you don't want to think, even if you just want to sit and let the sadness wash over your body in a slow wave. 

The part of Mary (she put her head in the oven after she heard Bonnie kick the trunk out from underneath herself in the basement) made me feel so heavy. The part of kicking the trunk made me feel this way especially, but just everything about Mary (you'll know what I mean if you read or have read the book) and her aftermath just made me hurt for her. It made me hurt for everyone in the book. I still feel this way, even if the initial sting of the events has worn off. 

I don't think we-the readers, the boys in the book who were so infatuated with the Lisbon girls in the books, etc.-will ever really understand the girls. There is a section about this in the book towards the end with one of the characters, Mr. Buell, who the boys interviewed about the Lisbon girls, saying "All wisdom ends in paradox." We are with the girls towards the end of their short lives, as they deteriorate, but our collecting of bits of their lives-Cecilia's yellowed high tops, vacation photos, and so on-will not guarantee answers, only more confusion; this is one of the only facts that comes attached to The Virgin Suicides, one of the only things we will ever be sure of about the girls. 

                                                                                                                         Yours truly, 

                                                                                                                                     Britney

the blogosphere: the future of fashion or absurd narcissism? (or maybe both?)

Let's be honest: not all blogs post the same thing, but most of them do. There is nothing that seems to stand out anymore, unless you wade through the sea of highly supplied yet not in high demand pages upon pages of someone wearing an outfit that you wouldn't think twice about in about twenty different pictures. The rise of certain fashion bloggers-Susie Bubble (Susanna Lau, respectively), Tavi Gevinson, BryanBoy, The Man Repeller (a.k.a Leandra Medine), etc.-has convinced people that if they go through the simple process of signing up for a blog and banging out a couple of paragraphs to go along with pictures, the same fame that has befallen these people will soon arrive at their doorsteps.

 

Before you say, "Hey, you're a blogger! Aren't you criticizing yourself?" I probably am. I have never put too much thought into my own blog; it was a place for me to upload pictures of things I liked and to voice my opinion. But in the past few months, it's become to tedious to do that; sometimes I just want to wear something amazing and not have to groan at the thought of setting up my-now broken-tripod, self-timing a good picture, and uploading it along with some words about it. Or maybe I would like to look at some fashion shows and not have to write down notes that will soon come together for the sake of my blog. (I actually got invited to one for NYFW, which is next week, by the way, and I will definitely be writing about that because it's too great to even believe.) Yes, now and then there's an outfit that I like, and style blogging has definitely improved what I wear; other style blogs have helped me do that as well, and I am incredibly thankful for that. So let me clarify: I am not saying that all style blogs are like this. There are a good amount of people that I know who have amazing blogs and post what they like, and share so many beautiful thoughts and ideas and photographs with the world, but there are also people who jump on the bandwagon because they think that by wearing the same. Exact. Thing. That. You. Can. Find. In. Every. Magazine. Just. Because. They. Told. You. To.

 

I've stopped taking pictures of what I wear-maybe I'll start back-because I don't want to be generalized or be accused of partaking in these endless trends that seem to be on almost every blog I come across. I don't want to be grouped with a ton of other people. I don't want people to come to my blog and think the same thing that I am writing about. I just want to write without doubt and wear what I want without saying, "You're only wearing flannel because of Saint Laurent! You're just like everyone else!" And I definitely don't want to group people like this, either. Sincerity will prevail over all; there are a ton of honest bloggers out there who wear clothes because they love them, but simultaneously, there are the people who are quite the opposite and are in it to win it. ("It" being interviews, followers, etc. etc.)

This absurd narcissism is not all blogging is made up of; there are the blogs that inspire, the ones that make people think. There are blogs that people return to over and over again, ones that make them happy, sad, and glad to be a part of all of this. They are the future of all of this. At the bottom of this sea of duplicated pages upon pages of half formed opinions and the same outfits over and over again, they are there, just waiting to be discovered; and when they are, they will be with you forever.