There are wars about everything else: Drugs. Alcohol. Oil. Getting everybody to shut the back door when they go outside to jump on the trampoline, “I’m not heating the outside for Christ’s sake.” Why not a War On Posing Stupid For Fashion? The WO-PSFF. So what if the acronym doesn’t make sense, or isn’t particularly clever? Neither are fashion poses. Or war.
This war will be fought on the battleground of our bodies, unless we find a better venue, in which case I think we should move it because women’s bodies are designed, not for war, but to be soft and cuddly. If God, whoever she is, wanted my body to be a battle ground, she (they, it, whatever), would have loaded it with muscles and an intense desire to watch games where millionaire men beat the shit out of each other. The point is, women’s bodies are temples, not clothes hangers. The point is, whenever a woman poises like an idiot to sell clothing made in sweat shops by Chinese children, everybody loses and when I say everybody, I mean the children, the poor model shivering in the cold, and the consumer who will have to strike that same pose laying down on a freezing concrete slab to make outfit look the way it did when she fell in love with it. People go on and on about how fashion isn’t about “real life,” it’s about the fantasy of womanhood. I could go on and on too, about how being a woman isn’t a fantasy surrounded by flowers and butterflies, or for those who like disturbing fantasies, a neck tattoo of the Virgin Mary at Mardi Gras. For those of you who don’t know, being a woman is a real thing with rules about where you can grow hair, and where “listening,” and “sharing” and “not looking like a slut when you go to church” are demanded by social contract. Let’s face it, men like a woman who looks good, and women, throughout the ages, have scrambled to meet expectations. As we know from the 1960s show, The Flintstones, fashion began with animal skins at mini-skirt length. As we know from statues of the Virgin Mary, long robes with your plunging neckline exposing your thorn-pierced heart above your breast came next. These two trends set the stage for all the others. In every single piece of clothing, women show off their legs or their breasts. If you show off both at once, you ARE dressing like a slut for church and you need to get back into your room and cover yourself up at once. The House of God isn’t a swinger’s club…except maybe in Vegas. Imagine a world where people just dressed for comfort. Skinny people wore skinny jeans. Fat people wore fat jeans. Legless people wore tunics. Headless people didn’t have to wear hats, OR scarves. Beautiful people don’t wear makeup. Ugly people did and looked exactly the same. It’s a world where fashion designers and camera men and women roam the streets in packs draped in exquisite colors, stopping from time-to-time to look vacantly at the sky, spread out their arms and stand on their toes so that they look taller. What if a sudden gust ripped their garments from them and revealed their actual and spiritual emptiness? Their real and metaphorical nakedness? In that moment, when the wind picked up, just after the lines of the cloth draped beautifully, they would topple over, and come to the powerful realization that draping anybody in a yard of cloth when the winds are high and cold, then standing on your toes, is quite stupid. As fashion designers are being enlightened by the reality of weather, normal people are making their own fashion decisions and clothes. They are like the people of WalMart or the Indy 500, only they aren’t in line to buy more stuff. They are frolicking around Maypoles in strips and polka dots. They’re wearing black shoes with white socks. They’re tucking in their shirts just because they want to unless what they want to do is let their muffin tops to spill over their waist bands. They’re mixing animal prints: wearing cat leggings with a dog-print shirts, wolf sweat shirts with lamb underwear and they aren’t changing THAT for a week. Of course now that there are no fashion guidelines, the twelve horses of the apocalypse show up, but, get this, they can wear what they want, too! They don’t have to braid their tails or wear ornamental saddles! They have bucked off the cruel restraints of fashion. Sadly, until we all proudly march out in mismatched clothing we won’t make it to that beautiful apocalypse. You have to think about what your really want, here. Do you want want to be an: A. Androgynous anorexic making a pretend gun with your fingers? B. Your awkward, adorable self wearing bunny slippers to the grocery store? C. A warrior in the fight against stupid fashion poises? Just so you won’t get confused and mash these options together and end up holding up a grocery store in your night clothes, I’ll tell you what the right choice is. It’s “C.” Go anti-poser warrior women!
Check out some more pics with the anti-posers:
Then go here for who inspired this bit of perfect nonsense: http://www.messynessychic.com/2012/05/30/what-model-poses-would-look-like-in-real-life/ And go here for more on fashion stupidness: http://whyfashionisstupid.tumblr.com/ broad’s band of anti-posers are, from the top: Emily Evans-Rice, Yvonne Larson, Courtney Copp and Brenda Steele. (Names of models in photos we copied are not listed. What the fashion experts make them do isn’t their fault). But THANK YOU broad anti-posers taking part in the War on Stupid Fashion poses. As you are all very intelligent, we know it was difficult for you to pose stupid. We are grateful.