Seeking Inspiration, Found

Inexplicably inspired is all I ever want to be. Is it crazy—crazy in that Van Gogh kind of way (only my ears are still intact, thankfully)—to want that over happiness? Whatever; it is what it is. Call me a one of those artist-hippie types, and I’ll accept it with all the grace a girl my age could muster. Come to think of it, my current and future employers might not be so impressed with that makeshift title. I suppose I’ll stick to creative type, with my ears left intact thankyouverymuch. 

Happiness and inspiration go hand in hand for me anyhow.

I was once that girl who was easily excited by anything and everything—perhaps taste levels changed (or were refined over time, let’s hope), but I feel that part of me has hardened. I love the explosiveness of the Internet and what it has to offer, and yet it frustrates me to no end. I’ll be the first to say that the democratization of the fashion industry by way of blogs has been fantastic for plain Jane’s like me, but it’s a double-edged sword. Too much of even a good thing becomes sour; this oversaturation has only bred this new thing which feeds on whatever pleases the masses. Few voices remain there own as all else follows—but a lack of personality/creativity isn’t the only con to it all. Fashion for the masses, at least in the states, is like this cruel game of consumerism. It’s not just fashion, but fast fashion, fueled by pure desire for stuff; where’s the thought? Where’s voice, the story? Push comes to shove fashion is superficial, but even at its most frivolous it has the potential to become style. Style is perspective and conversation, and the most immediate mode of communication that nurtures the senses.

It’s overwhelming. There’s blogs. Tumblr. Pinterest. Twitter. Instagram. There’s just so much—too much—that uniqueness gets lost and it’s all about the most likes or feigning cool with aloofness. I look at magazines and I’m too tired to flip through them; to think, just a few years ago before the blogosphere boom, I could re-read and re-study the same issue until the corners turned upwards from being turned so much. I question if it’s the quality of the magazine or fashion overload that has me to the point of boredom…

… and then there’s Vogue Paris that gives me that jolt I need. Thank god. Here’s some (not so unique) food for thought: why is it that international magazines (not just the French) are far superior, editorial-wise, than its American counterparts? Even their covers are that much more beautiful. I have a sneaking suspicion that it’s because consumerism outside the U.S. isn’t nearly as aggressive or obsessed with instant gratification—and, therefore,  magazines are less concerned with churning out “trendiest (insert trend here)” pages. But those are my two cents.

It sounds so cheesy to say, but cheesy I’ll be: seeing these pages from August 2012, styled by Géraldine Saglio, re-ignited the little fashion-hungry girl within. (They also made me inexplicably happy. I told you inspiration and contentedness were joined at the hip). Where in US Vogue can you see such effortless joie de vivre? Here is the perfect combination of the elements: a stunning model, a stylist true to her own signature, and a photographer who can capture that perfect. It’s so very Marant yet not in that overdone way, where it’s about this girl and less about the clothes. It’s about simplicity, yet there’s such great thought in the details.

I could stare at these photos for ages and never tire of them…

Anais Mali for Paris Vogue Aug. 2012.

Styled by Géraldine Saglio.

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