My Sweet Bicicleta

Readers, I've gone all summer without posting a single word to this little piece of blog. My initial instinct was to apologize to all of you for my absence. But to be honest, I'm not really sorry; mostly because I've been off exploring the strength of my legs and the depth of my spirit with my brand new bicycle. Allow me to elaborate on this fabulous new development.

On June 16th (yes, precisely June 16th), while perusing a bike sale, I fell in love with an ORANGE bike. After some price bargaining, I rode it home and began to traverse the urban stage on a pair of wheels, not heels, wheeeeeeeels! I can hardly express my seemingly unbreakable happiness. The bike has  loads of swagger, it's equipped with an 8-speed internal hub gear-shifter (for those darn bay area hills), fenders, a rack, and a very cute Parisian basket. In fact, I can't always handle all that swagger; there have been times when I am riding mi bici (bike in Spanish) and I start to laugh and smile hysterically without real reason (to outsiders, I likely look borderline psychotic).  I ride it as much as I can; as a data geek, I've tracked my mileage, and in 2 months I've biked over 220 miles (and I'm only counting the big rides). Check out my chart!

I always feel the need to express my gratitude to the divine for the life I've been given. I come from very little means and right now I feel very fortunate to have my stylish and highly functional bike; it is truly the machine of my dreams. As I've noted previously, I love the process of styling myself; I love that internal dialogue that I have with my intuition, the result of which, I then choose to express outward. Most importantly, as a transportation lady, it's such a privilege to be able to express my style in my mode of transport. My bike is an outfit I intuitively selected one summer day that’s 100 times better than any outfit I currently have. All the while, I'm making an important statement: I can travel sustainabily and stylishly! Of all the things that I've been a consumer of, my stylish bike is the least I feel guilty about.

It helps that mi bici  has a tremendous utility in the context of my life. I don’t own a car and until recently, I was getting around by transit, ridesharing, walking, and in some cases, I just avoided going to places. I’m lucky that I live in a city with good transit.  Mi bici has certainly expanded my mobility in a way that is personally meaningful but also socially responsible. When I’m biking, I don’t hurt ANYBODY! I don’t produce GHG emissions and I am not driving a 3-ton vehicle that could kill you in a second of distraction. The max speed I can clock is 20 mph (on a hill), which would probably break a couple of bones if I ever accidentally run into someone. 

Nevertheless, there are some depressing realities that I’ve had to accept; for one thing, there’s a real possibility that a careless driver could kill me. But, then again, that’s a reality for everyone on the road. I’ve minimized that by choosing a very visible orange bike and administering caution while biking. On the less important scale, I've had to figure out how to avoid scratching my tights with the pedals and the best way to tuck my dress in order to avoid flashing folks.

If you haven’t guessed already, I am not the type of biker that wears Spandex. And while we're on the subject of biker types, I should note that I also don’t feel safe riding in mixed traffic.I need sharrows at a minimum (see pic below) as I ain't gonna ride in that jungle of cars in ma’ cute dress with no bike stencil in sight. My needs are not unusual; In fact, most people fall into this biker category. This brings me to another harsh reality: bike networks are still patchworks in most cities. Fortunately, my local bike network is fairly decent and I can usually cruise comfortably in a flower-print dress.

Like most people, I  typically go to the grocery store on the weekend. Yesterday, as I rode over to the Berkeley Bowl to engross myself with wonderful produce, I hummed along to my theme song (lately, it's "All right Now" ) and I felt incredibly beautiful and free. I was actually wearing a super cute dress and random people on the street complimented me. I didn't leave the house with that objective, but somehow, together, my bike and I looked beautiful. Now if only others could feel the joy of biking........ cities around the world, we have to do better! I leave you with a couple of pics of la bici and I.

PS. I’ll entertain your subconscious thought that I am being very florid and idealistic in calling my experience biking as “beautiful”; I am fundamentally a romantic and I embrace a romantic bike-riding version of me, even if in reality I sometimes get yelled at by angry drivers and I'm sweating bullets after a crazy hill. More on this romantic notion later...

An Ode to Polka Dots

As I grow older, my collection of memories seems to play a much stronger role in how I continue to fine-tune the woman that I am. One of my fondest and most vivid memories is about the first time I saw one of my favorite women wearing polka dots. I was a fresh person in college and I was walking through campus carrying all of these books back to my dorm. I think I had just gotten my first major writing assignment; or perhaps, my memory fails me and I was really carrying just one huge chemistry book (because little do folks know, I was initially really interested in majoring in chemistry).

I remember feeling the cold northeastern fall for the first time ever while I waited to cross the street. The air upon my face was really thick, heavy and ominous; from a composite memory of all those cold nights I spent in New Haven, I can almost feel now how cold my nose felt that day. I was a girl from southern California finally getting a sense of how cold it could get, and it was only just October. I huddled and I stared on as I waited for the light to turn green.  On the other side of the street, there was a lady with a polka dot bag. In a super cheery disposition, she looked straight at me, smiled, and waved. I looked around behind me and there was no one there so she must have been waving at me. I thought to myself, okay, I know her, she’s waving at me, but the truth is…I had really no idea who she was. But she seemed so warm, so friendly, so Polka-dotted, that I smiled and waved back.  

A few years later I had the privilege of taking a class with Alicia Schmidt-Camacho, the lady with the polka-dot bag. Already I’m getting teary just thinking about her. Even though college was over five years ago, I am still digesting how this woman changed my life; and I know at least four other women who will feel exactly the same way when they read this. She is truly a phenomenal woman that wears her polka dots with a bright, warm smile. 

It’s amazing to look back and realize that Alicia knew who I was, before I even knew who she was. Such was the magnitude of her instant love for me (a girl from the hood, who had no idea what she had signed for when she decided to venture east). [Okay, the tears are out]. Without hesitation, she sent a smile full of whimsical polka dots at me, across the street, through the cold, through the vacant space between us, and made me feel soo warm for one brief moment in time. And even though it happened almost ten years ago, it’s a lifelong gift of a memory. 

I've noticed that whenever I wear or see polka dots, I get this warm fuzzy feeling of whimsical beauty. Perhaps...this really isn’t an ode to polka dots. Perhaps this is another one of my moments in which I realize how thankful I am to have such wonderful women guiding me in this lifelong transformation. Whatever this ode is about, I thank you dearly Alicia, for this sweet, beautiful memory of you and your polka dot bag.

http://erm.yale.edu/alicia-schmidt-camacho

Verde Verde, Que te Quiero Verde

I’ve written about color before, but the topic is so interesting that I wish to write more about it because today is Saint Patrick’s Day and GREEN is EVERYWHERE! In fact, last night, I went out to celebrate a recent milestone, and I thought about my outfit for days! I had to factor in SP day, the rain, the importance of my moment, and still leave my outfit flexible enough for the creative process that I love (the part when I actually put it on, and add/subtract accessories). Lucky for me, I have a beautiful pastel green dress. I dressed, I went, I was happy y tu sabes, vivi un poco!

But this morning I thought a little bit more about the symbolic nature of color and it’s relation to people. After all, color is infused into your gender before you are even born (pink for girls, blue for boys). And in the nascent stages of our nation, leaders spent a great deal of time debating the colors that would go on the flag. The decision has followed us since, and on the 4th of July when our national identity is celebrated,  the combo Red/White/Blue is everywhere!  But of course, we don’t wear red/white and blue. So why do we wear green on Saint Patrick’s Day? And why do people try to wear a certain color (white for example) during demonstrations? And why do we wear black to funerals?

I’d like to observe that I think this unification through color in some ways represents a motion for some greater collective action or consciousness; at least, just for one day or one gathering. Yes, we have the holiday that reminds us of a unique spatial/social/political moment, but there must be an act that comes along with it in order to unify ourselves with it. Nevertheless, there is dimension in this moment. For when I wore green last night, I felt I was having fun and celebrating; but when I was in NYC on Saint Patricks Day (a few years ago), the green in the parade definitely felt like it represented something else. There are plenty of others who have made this observation before; so I will not attempt to claim innovative thought here. I will however, encourage you all to find a green that works! It can be an extremely romantic and soft color. And with that I leave you with one of my favorite poems by Federico Garcia Lorca that begins with the color green…

Verde que te quiero verde.
Verde viento. Verdes ramas.
El barco sobre la mar
y el caballo en la montaña.
Con la sombra en la cintura
ella sueña en su baranda,
verde carne, pelo verde,
con ojos de fría plata.
Verde que te quiero verde.
Bajo la luna gitana,
las cosas la están mirando
y ella no puede mirarlas.
Rest of the poem is here:Verde Verde poem

Khatia: La Pianista

Before the weekend concludes, and I get ready for an early morning hustle to the Daly City BART, I want to write about a woman in a beautiful black sparkling gown. Last Friday, I was blessed with the opportunity to experience the transcending power of Khatia Buniatishvili as she took her seat as the night’s concert pianist for the San Francisco Symphony Orchestra. 

It was quite a majestic and surreal experience during one of those winter nights in San Francisco when rain pounded the City and wind shuttered through the streets.  My friend and I were sheltered comfortably inside the Davis concert hall where we marveled at the sophisticated lighting that gave us the impression something beautiful was about to transpire.

Then suddenly, the stage door opened, the hall erupted in applause and the ethereal Khatia appeared before us. She stood tall, sensual and proud for one brief moment and then proceeded to walk across the stage toward the piano.  Her presence was mesmerizing and I clearly remember the way her hips moved; the way her smile seemed true; and the magnitude of her confidence and grace. Her excellence was complimented by a sparkling black halter dress, beautiful silver 6-inch heels and a silver shimmery necklace. As she walked, it seemed the stage lighting was perfectly positioned to illuminate her at every step.  Then, she sat down and became Goddess Devine showing us her talent, her emotion, and her power! Oh my goodness, que poder. 

In the process she floored us; we were all so floored by her power.

What I recall from this moment is that she wasn’t physically perfect by traditional standards. She had a little muffin top (no fantasy 6 pack), and a little jiggle in her arms. BUT she was perfect in my eyes because I fell in love at first sight; how could I not? Her talent was beaming, her aura commanded the entire hall, and as she played the piano she melted my heart. She played me what I was feeling and drummed up memories of feelings that have long been forgotten. I heard my feelings of love, loss, and hope; and I heard my memories of the highs, the hurts, and the dreams deferred. With one of hour of her music, Khatia gave me her woman in a black halter sparking dress.

This is Khatia.

This woman wore the dress; not the dress wore the woman.

This woman was before the woman wore the dress.

AND THAT is a fundamental of fashion; the power is the woman, the dress is just an accessory that made her shine.

McQueen

On a Sunday morning, I've decided to spend (not waste) a few minutes to declare my love for McQueen. His label is the only label I consistently keep up with because I don't think his products are exclusively about fashion. In fact, McQueen strikes me as much more insightful about life and the various routes that lead to ideas/products/conclusions. To me, his work represents the merging of three veins of process: philosophy, artistry, and femininity. Philosophy is a process based on rationality; artistry is founded on visual creativity; and femininity.... well its a deconstruction/reconstruction/abstraction/production of my gender. Of course, the last one is hard to define and I don't think I ever could give it a proper description as it spans lots of levels of process that are both internal and external to my body (i.e. politics, sex, social constructs etc.).   Regardless of their complexity, my point is that McQueen art is the trinity of these three processes and I am always comforted when there is verbal or visual confirmation of my thoughts. Recently I ran into a video that totally re-affirmed what I feel when I see McQueen. Here it is for your blogosphere consumption: Diving-For-Mcqueen

My favorite quotes from Sarah:
 "Tiny circles, small circles stitched all around; it's actually quite mathematical"
"A McQueen Woman, has to feel powerful, she's never a girly-girl...she's always A Woman"

And here are a few images of McQueen's work over the years.
A butterfly?

 Can I show up to work in this one day?

 Michelle looks awesome in a McQueen suit.

Although, the creator Alexander is gone, his work and his process definitely live on.
And there it is.A short-and-sweet entry.

De Colores

I was recently privilidged with the opportunity to sit in a room full of Rothkos (Wikipedia-him). It was a small quaint room where I could sit quietly and let Rothko romantically seduce me to concepts about color. Yes, Rothko your green is complex, bluish, translucent, bottomless, seductive and ethereal; your pink is whimsical, powerful, open, infinitely spiral, sparkling and…oh my goodness was that my heart skipping a beat from all the jazzy hues? What can I say, color has an effect on me and that’s why I sighed and sat there with a smile for a few minutes. And then, when I was done ruminating through the other halls, I went back for one last moment of blissful colors before exiting the museum.

In the fashion world, color is a yo-yo concept that goes in and out of “style”; in the process, the concept  is edited, formatted, and narrated by the industry to be “re-invented” every few years as something new to try, complete with mixed messages. First, they tell you black is slimming and you should wear it to feel good about yourself. Simultaneously, they make you inherently afraid of color because it will make you feel the opposite: fat, unattractive and abnormally visible. And with that framework, they occasionally send you a message that this season “do not be afraid of color”. So if you DO wear it when they tell you to “embrace” it, you are bold, powerful and OMG, such a “fashionista”.

Well, I’m not afraid of it. I haven’t been ever since I started actually experimenting with styling myself. And I hope I never feel afraid of it; that I wear across the seasons, in all its various elements; and that it remains a tool in my arsenal of happiness. It’s not just me who feels this way. Color is a part of many cultures around the world and it was actually very prominent in pre-historic culture. Further, color is so common in the natural world that it’s even used to signal gender and sex by some animals including many species of birds. Of course, not everyone loves color, for not everyone has my reaction to Rothko. Check out this Youtube video of a Mad Men episode which hilariously portrays the opposite effects that Rothko has on people. http://youtu.be/CrxxmuspoJM

So, what I’m saying is, I personally love color in my style; but there’s people who naturally dislike it or interpret it differently. And that’s okay. But I just beg you to analyze why you don’t like it. Is it because they are telling you not to wear it to look skinny or that it’s out of “style”? If that’s your reason, I think you should go stare at Rothkos a bit and see if it changes your mind about the power of color.
I leave you with a song I used to sing as a kid…

De colores, De colores se visten los campos en la primavera
De colores, De colores son los pajarillos que vienen de afuera
De colores, De colores es el arco iris que vemos lucir

Y por eso los grandes amores
De muchos colores me gustan a mi
Y por eso los grandes amores
De muchos colores me gustan a mi

La Religion Stylistically Codified.

So I had a dream recently. One night I was feeling a rush of panic about my future, the past and the overall effervescent nature of our lives. One minute there is absolute certainty; the world is clear and still like a lake on a windless summer day. The next minute there’s a bubble rising and you’re not really sure how big it’s going to get; whether it’s going to take you somewhere; or whether it’s just simply going to disappear. I started rubbing Budai’s belly (a Chinese representation of Buddha laughing) and slowly began to feel a comfort, small but distinct, that calmly and gently reduced me to a warm feeling of peace and hope.

Somehow I felt connected, both to myself and this religious representation of the “awakened one”. I began reading about what it means to “rub the Buddha’s belly”. It’s interesting that Budai actually doesn’t look like Buddha – Buddha fasted for almost 50 days and he probably would never look like that… anyway. So yes, I became obsessed with Buddha. [lately, that’s what I do with a lot of things; I’m in a state of discovery]. I did what any obsessed person would do with internet access: I ate up the Wikipedia article on everything Buddha-ist-ing-ed. Feeling “enlightened”, I rubbed his belly again… and I went to sleep.

This is where my dream began. I dreamed that I was a Buddhist monk of sorts, sitting with a group of monks eating vegetarian food. I was dressed in a robe looking calm and peaceful but interestingly, I was wearing earrings and my hair was still intact and its natural state (loose, wavy, and a little frizzy). I don’t remember much else from this dream. I woke up grudgingly, sleepy and not ready to go to work for an early shift in data collection.

As I later reflected on my dream, I felt myself relieved that even though I was dreaming and deep in the subconscious of my brain, I could see who I was. In case you don’t know, as a Buddhist monk you have to give up identity (in some way). Thus, it was interesting that in my dream I could recognize myself. I had indeed transformed into something I will likely never be and have never really strived to be. I mean I know what Buddhism is, and indeed I have tried to meditate, but the fact that I held on to my hair and my earrings is very symbolic of the things I do not want to give up. We all wonder who we really are, and there are several age “crisis” that are permanent fixtures in our everyday chats about life: “Teenage years”, “Quarter-life Crisis”, “Mid-life Crisis” and of course the timeless “finding myself” condition. But maybe at some point, we know some fundamentals, even if a sudden life change alters your surroundings.

So I kept my earrings and hair, but I was still wearing a robe, and I was eating tofu, walking through a garden, away from civilization, high above the mountains. What I was wearing in the dream, led me to some reflections on religious coding.

It’s interesting that even though Buddhist strive for the simplest clothing, the cleanest hair-do (bald), and the simplest of shoes, if you saw one walking on the street, you would know their identity and what they represent in our codified world of social identities. They are religious subjects of the Buddhist religion. Similarly a nun, who again strives for the simplest of clothes, and the most basic of colors, is easily identified as a religious devotee in the Christian faith. To be absolutely clear, I am not saying that the world that they represent is simple. On the contrary, it is supremely complex, full of mind-blowing juxtapositions, and out-of-body experiences that I can’t even begin to understand or presume to know.  But how they dress is a signal to us and a transformation to them. Their robes allow them to fully be who they are and want to be. At the same time, it’s a signal to us, to allow them to be who they want to be. Of course, this is not always respected and ignorance unfortunately breaches the code of religious style.

This simple code does not necessarily apply to the rest of us, who are a little bit of this and a little bit of that. This is fortunate for some, but unfortunate for others. It’s a FORTUNATE condition [at least for me it is] because it means that you can experiment, you can change, and you can codify and re-program. Yes, we all wear our suits during work time, but I hope most people go home and change. Last night, I was talking to someone in finance, and I would have never guessed that this was his trade. And I came home happy that humanity existed, even in the most unlikely places of the world [to me finance seems sooo…. ^/^ well you know]. It is an UNFORTUNATE condition because it just makes life very complicated. You don’t really know who someone is, or represents based on the robes that they are wearing. I came home and put on my infinity shirt and went to bed. I am an engineer, and I’m not scared of numbers, or the idea of infinity. I embrace infinity, divinity, continuity… haha getting really close to the axis but never getting there!! Of course, there’s a lot more to who I am. Right now I’m writing.

Family Style.

There are days when life with the family is great, and I had a pretty good one yesterday as I said goodbye for the summer. However, I will declare before anything, that while I had a great day yesterday, family IS family. It’s a series of deep connections between unique human beings, trying to simultaneously maintain individuality and cohesion. It’s not always pleasant but yesterday was indeed a lovely day with the fam. I wanted to start my blog up again with this as the preface for a very important paradox in fashion: trying to be an individual and still feel like you belong amongst a multitude of complicated individuals, with unique stories, all loading a train or jamming the freeway at rush hour.  

My family has a very similar style, and yet, uniqueness abounds. I clearly remember when we were all children, and now, as I start what feels like a new stage in my life, all but one are at least teenagers. All but one know what sex is, and all of us are individuals. I wanted to post these pictures up of my family. And I’m going to point out some things about their style that I love and says something about who they are as individuals and who we are as a family. 

First up is my mother:

 Check out her chic shirt, classic earrings, and blond long hair? Did I mention she's had 9 kids?

Next is my daddy:

He's getting ready for work. Even though he's wearing a white t-shirt and black pants, its quite deceiving. He's actually a blue collar worker, getting ready for the night shift as a cab-driver. I often joke with him, that transportation is a family business.

Next is My sister.

 Of course, my sista. Casual clothing, fantastic hair-do? I think you'll notice soon, that we all do things with our hair. Did I mention she's the family hairstylist?

Here come the boys.

Here is my brother with his emo-japanese anime inspired hairstyle.

Then there's the baby and the oldest. The baby is a baby, and still developing!  The oldest is a responsible adult who's lived longer (worn-out-raidiohead t-shirt), but knows how to make kids laugh.

And two young adults (19- and 21-year olds), chilling, in the process of finding themselves, but chilling. Clean cut hair-dos.

And that's that. Lots of cotton t-shirts, hair-dos, and no gangstas.  There's more family members around, but I didn't get to photograph them yesterday. I managed to get smiles out of most. We watched the LOTR Two Towers before I left for LAX.

Weatherizing ME!

I am so excited about RAIN! I know, you may think I'm crazy, but I'm not, I swear. While it's easy to complain about the rain, and how it prevents you from doing this and that, and it makes everyone bad drivers, and there's extra delay, and the bus gets stuffy, and I get wet, and its gross, and [insert], and [insert], let's not be so pessimistic, that's not our style.

Empesamos con a shot-out to the Weather Channel: Thanks to wonderful innovation, excellent deployment of technology and information, and some big wig somewhere in that organization rolling out these efforts, we now have the ability to predict weather down to the hour. YES, we can! And so I know that around the time I'll be leaving my employment site, there's a 40% chance of rain, and it goes up 10% each hour I delay my departure. Now, I wouldn't be blogging about this if I had not had some success in utilizing this tool to optimize my wardrobe. Here is the criteria for my wardrobe based on the predicted conditions:

1. As a pedestrian, I am concerned about my feet (wet socks are gross).
2. As a student my primary concern is protecting paper (wet paper is just no bueno).
3. As a artistic, stylistic, blossoming subject I care about presentation.

So I built a model based on the predicted rain, and this is what I came up with.

I know, it's cute right? and MIXING PRINTS! Also,  I live in the Bay Area and Timbaktu has chanced me with a good ultra-water resistant bag that secures the longevity of my books.

Ladies (and Gentlemen?) we must take rain as an opportunity. First, its my opportunity for beginning my critique on the fashion industry for not designing more items that represent real world conditions, ignoring pedestrians, bicyclists and commuters! Second, its an opportunity to create something new.

OPPORTUNITY people, opportunity!

"Rain Drops keep falling on my head
But that doesn't mean my eyes will soon be turnin' red
Cryin's not for me..."

My first Off-Topic Post

It's been a while, I know, but I'm going to disappoint you all, and drift from the topics I designated for this blog. Mostly because recently something else has been occupying my mind... and that's music. Yes, I'm going from superficial, to highly theoretical, abstract, and indescribable. What can I say, at the end of a tough week I can shave my legs and put on a dress, but during the week music takes over as my primary companion and solace for phrases that repulse me such as “this should make intuitive sense to you”. F-U.… Now on to my need to brag about what I’ve found.

I have found...the most intriguing artifacts in my ipod collection: classical music. I don’t know about you, but I used to find that classical music never quite fit the mold for me. It’s old, its complicated, word-less and seems rather outdated. What would a modern gal have in common with Beethoven and Chopin? I have no idea, but it must be something, for as of the last couple of weeks I’ve slowly cracked under their spell. And maybe this has some learning lesson in fashion: No matter how modern and chic you want to be, you CANNOT ignore the classics.

First it was Schubert. Mind you,  I was introduced to him in college and I've always liked him. But I had never cried to Schubert. A couple of weeks ago though, I was hysterical. It was kinda like one of those movie scenes, when a guy is begging the girl to forgive, and the girl finally cracks and says "Yes, Yes I love you!" A few days later, I was at work listening to Tchaikovsky’s  Rose Adagio, and I had to get up and take breather because the music I was so casually listening to was way too intense for me.

Classical music used to be a way for me to just simply bring a quiet, word-less, rhythm to my day, and all of a sudden it was making me emotional? I feel as if I’ve discovered the next element, or a new planet. And I can’t even really describe it! Yes I know what’s an E flat or A sharp, but I don’t know what’s going on in this music. Andante? I feel like Jodie Foster in Contact, when she goes out into space, she says, "its so beautiful, I can't even describe it! A poet, they should have sent a poet!" ALL that I Know, is that its tremendous and it’s somehow explaining something so universal to me in a completely different language. Its madness.

Now I’m hooked and I can’t get out. My latest joy is Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 1. I can’t stop my face from contorting into strange shapes. I love it, I love it, I love him. In fact, I have to hide my face if I’m at a coffee shop.  While mathematicians may argue that math is the universal language, I’d like to challenge that. It's Music! Music is the universal language! In the least, it’s the language of emotion. I'm feelin’ it.

My favorite three right now:

Beethoven: Largo Piano Concerto No. 1 in C
Beethoven: Violin Romance No. 2 in F
Hoffstetter: Andante cantabile (String Quartet in F, Op. 3 no. 5)

Fashion Week pt 1: El Dominicano

I will begin my contemplations on fashion week with one name: Oscar de la Renta. Es dominicano si si si. Holler at my dominicanos!

And in honor of the success of this man, I quote from the In the Heights Musical, because his collection reminded me of a renewed faith in the" pursuit of happiness":
"We came to work and to live and we got a lot in common,
DR, PR, we are not stoppin.
In the heights, every day, paciencia y fe. "

I hope this quote makes sense to you; it makes sense to me because I've heard it a million times, and I have the beat down. But essentially, the quote exemplifies the immigrant struggle in the pursuit of a dream, whatever that dream may be. It can be as simple as life, and it can be as dreamy as an amazing collection at the NY Fall Fashion week of 2010. Today I chose to carefully romanticize Oscar's adventure in becoming a fashion icon. After a decade of dressing the likes of Laura Bush, he still has it. Coño! he really does.

It's a strange time in our country. The anti-immigrant sentiment has risen to levels that make me feel depressed, confused, and subliminally isolated. Granted, there are other things in my life that make me feel more "unique" than my immigrant background (i.e. I am a chicana doing a transportation engineering degree). Further, as one who holds an American citizenship, I am safe here; unless Ron Paul Jr. manages to change the constitution and takes away my birth right. The point is, I am not in the shadows, and I am supposed to be free.

But these times do question my memory, the validity of my experience, and the direction that I am going. I am supposed to be upwardly mobile. Am I? I'm supposed to be free to decide my destiny and legacy. Am I? I spent 10 years of my life speaking mostly spanish. I learned to read, multiply, and the names of the planets in our solar system in spanish (including el Pluton). But there's an ever present national narrative that is constantly at work here, erasing this possibility. I feel like Alice when that dog erases the path behind her and in front of her while lost in Wonderland. But luckily, every so often, I experience something  that puts me at ease of where I am going, by reminding me of where I am coming from.

This week it was Oscar de La Renta's Collection. While I have yet to complete my review of the week's collections (very, very busy week) I took minor breaks from studying last night to see Oscar's. I instantly felt renewed! El arte de Oscar is fresh, de colores, and I love it. One day, when I have a little money, I'm going to buy a piece by OLR (along with a pair of Manolos). Yes, I love my bf Omar, but I would love Oscar de la Renta on me =)! The weight of his collection gets magnified when I think about the struggle behind it all.  The man  was born in the DR with a hybrid PR/DR experience. Then after studying art and falling into fashion, he came to New York (that concrete jungle, where dreams are made of), and started his own line, and then, wabam, el immigrante took the fashion industry by storm. He is now an icon.

(One of his Dresses, soooooo pretty)

While NY Fashion Week is full of glamour and things way beyond my price range, there are stories to be told there. Although Oscar de La Renta has reached iconic status, we all remember the shock last January when Michelle Obama chose Jason Wu's dress, another immigrant from Taiwan. While OLR shows what has been done, Jason Wu has renewed our promise.The immigrant push to renew America's creative expression and re-invent the American story is ever present. Their collections make me excited and provide a visual representation of what immigrants achieve in making America better, even if its just clothes. I have still to see immigrant Designers in the Paris Fashion Week achieve the same level of success as Designers like OLR, Carolina Herrera, Narcizco Rodriguez, Jason Wu, Alexander Wang, etc. etc. etc.. This is American Fashion.

Here is the link to their collections:
 http://nymag.com/fashion/fashionshows/
I'll try to post more pictures on my next post, but now, I'm off to the museum.

To be continued....

La Chicana en Paris (follow up on style)

After finishing my last post, a sweet memory crept in to remind me that part of my blog is to contarles historias that are relevant. While we all have to be cautious not to over-credit Europe with ideas, I must acknowledge that Paris was where I first began understanding the concept of style....And it makes sense.  France has had a long time to evolve ideas about fashion without a lot of constraints, and so it has arrived at the point where everyone has afforded themselves individual styles. On the other hand, I think in America we are still trying to distinguish style and fashion while at the same time fighting the dichotomies that exist in our own society. Well, back to my story.

In the summer of 2005, I was in Europe working for a German firm where every other weekend I hopped on a cheap plane flight to another city; and one weekend I landed in Paris. Imagine me, a little engineering Chicana with pretty beat-up glasses, walking through the streets of Paris, in shorts and sneakers, and just being amazed at what I saw (and ate). Besides the beautiful architecture, the art (yes, I saw Mona Lisa), and the unfortunate undertones of french nationalism, I saw Style. Literally, no two women (or men, for that matter) looked alike; and maybe there was some "trend" going on, but I definitely did not see it. Every style was represented in the subway; there were the Chanel type ladies with those classic black bags, and there was the alternative ladies with red hair, and combat inspired boots. Even the minority mujer (mostly from former french colonies, and the Caribbean) had a style. In fact, I was blessed with the opportunity to stumble into the ghetto (porque you know me, I like seeing the real deal), and indeed I saw a microcosm of style, and of course the classic salon, where all the ladies straightened their hair (another topic of conversation to be discussed later). The funniest thing I remember, is trying to get directions from the salon lady, and suddenly I discovered she spoke English; she was from Jamaica!

After my first day in Paris, I stopped wearing my shorts, and wore the one skirt I had brought with me. Unfortunately, when I came back to the states, I forgot all about what I learned, and focused on the weighty issues of undergraduate education. But, I leave you all with a picture of me in Paris (with awful style, hair-do, everything! BUT, I was happy now, wasn't I):

 This outfit was highly improved by the time I landed in Madrid:

Fashion vs. Style

Before I write about anything else, I wanted to write about this very important topic. From my relatively short and recent romance with “fashion”, I’ve come to understand a very important distinction that I wish more people understood. That is, there is a very big difference between "fashion" and "style”. Let me elaborate.

• The key terms I associate with fashion are: industry, trends, labels, designers, models, capitalism, expensive art, inspiration
• The key terms I associate with style are: individual, art and crafts, fun, emotional, within

Of course, “style” and “fashion” intersect. People who are “fashionable” can be very "stylish". But I think the motivation is different.  To be “stylish” is to want to express yourself outwardly, and have the clothes that you have (or are about to buy) express something about yourself, whether it’s that you’re eco-friendly with an organic cotton shirt, or that you feel sexy with a leopard print scarf. You are essentially the "Editor" of fashion. Breaking it down, ya know what i mean?

On the other hand, to want to be “fashionable” is to want to be part of the trend. Now, there’s nothing wrong with this of course, in fact, I read a lot on fashion, and I find it very interesting. For example, I love looking at the runway collections and seeing what designers come up with like new shapes, new fabrics, and new “styles” (next week is fashion week so I’ll talk more about this later). But how it translates onto an individual, can lead to a very superficial interpretation of fashion.  Example: "A Prada bag is fashionable."

Pero, the bigger problem is that people often reject fashion because they feel it doesn’t fit their own need, their own body, their own sense of self, and most importantly their wallets.  They say “I’m toooooo old or ugly, short, dark, white, brown, disfigured…etc. etc. etc.  This  I find depressing. It really is people not fitting into the fashion world, when really, people should find ways of fitting fashion into their own style. And of course, style doesn’t have to be static. I have many “styles” that I’m still working on (student style, work style, leisure style).

To develop style/s requires an investment of your time, emotions (most articles will not fit you right and its VERY emotional), and money (a little or a lot); but I find it’s an investment well worth it. For some people it improves their confidence because how they feel and how they look are synchronized. For me, styling myself fulfills a creative need that has been missing for a while. And I'll definitely acknowledge that for some people, their "style" is simply to not think about clothes at all, and they are perfectly happy with that.

Concluding thought: You don’t have to have a Louis Vutton bag to feel fashionable. You can be very stylish if you edit fashion and put together an ensemble of shorts and a t-shirt (I would add a hat, but that’s me), as long as it’s your creation, your process, and your style. And that's all that matters.

FYI, here is the official definition of style: The combination of distinctive features of literary or artistic expression, execution, or performance characterizing a particular person, group, school, or era.

Summer con Flores

I had been anxious to wear my floral dress for a third time this summer, but the bay area weather had not permitted any form of inspiration or indication that I would be safe in it (its windy here). But opportunity arose, and I wore my flores this week, and immediately felt so empowered that I decided to write a blog about two of my favorite subjects, fashion and transportation, in my context. And while quisas this endeavor might flop, and I might get busy and never blog again, I figured I should write something. I don't know how well these two subjects will blend but lets give it a try.

Las flores have always been part of my attire, and I get a sense of pleasure that is both peaceful and optimistic. I remember when my brother graduated from elementary school, mi mom bought me a really cute flowery outfit, complete with a flappy hat that had a big flower on it. And lets not forget mi camisa mexicana nativa, embroidered in colorful patterns of flowers. While flowery can often seem cliche and either too much of an indication of femininity that may be perceived as highly superficial and simple, I've gained a greater appreciation of it. Flowers are a sharp contrast to the hard industrial textures that surround us. As an active pedestrian and transit rider, it gives me the power to walk on concrete and transcend the sliding doors of a bus. Flowers are also dynamic, and although a flower print is composed of a multitude of flowers, they remain a community of individuals, and each one must be beautiful and an entity on its own. While I am sure my dress was made for mass consumption and there's probably thousands if not millions of these dresses in the world, as I continue to wear it, the curves of my body will stretch each flower out in different ways, and become individuals. But before I go too far with this ramble here is my simple conclusion: flower power.

Here's my outfit: