The Glamour Itch

The Glamour Itch takes a brutal hold of me a few times a year, usually during my PMS. Surprise!

For 2-3 days I am deprived of my judgement, free will and other self-control paraphernalia.

All I can think about is ..fashion.

And this helpless surrender makes me drown in a barrel of guilt.

But I just pretend it’s beer.

I begin visualizing my so-called “wardrobe” and, once again, mentally managing to create something out of nothing: just by mixing  the right colors and shapes into a yet another stylish outfit.

After years of living out of my suitcase, I’ve mastered the noble skill of turning shit into a shiny mirror-glaze cake.

And – to answer your question – yes, it stinks!

Because somewhere deep inside, there’s a visceral and intellectual yearning for something so much more profound.

Something complex.

Something meaningful.

A bloody walk-in closet!

I want it badly and I want it now!

Scientific observation: Since I’ve practiced such a frugal approach to buying clothes all my life, I wouldn’t be surprised if the walk-in closet would end up showcasing just 2-3 rhinestone studded hangers lying around unemployed, wishing only to hang themselves or just die. And then I would have to pivot the whole project into a hypocritical art installation, like people do. And of course I would need to become an activist against consumerism: Fuck you with your fast fashion and slow fashion! Just go back to your origins. No, not your mother’s cunt! Just go for naked fashion!

Because the reality is I am spending my days at home, in my sweatpants. In fact, I am very close to worshiping the latest snug sweatpants I’ve bought: they are plushy, they are comfy, they are a miracle! Why on Earth would I ever want to wear anything else?

Hey, did I mention this was a really complex issue?

It’s probably rooted in my communist anti-consumerist upbringing. It was called “national starvation program”. Something like “the famine relief” concept but with a looser interpretation.

Hmm, now that I think about the communism, there was actually something very sexy about wearing a uniform in elementary school. I’m sure most pedophiles would agree. But by far the highlight of that era was having to wear “pampoane”.

Or, in the words of ChatGPT: “large decorative hair accessories, commonly referred to as hair bows or ribbon bows in English. They were a staple for schoolgirls, especially on formal occasions.”