The Worst F-Word: FASHION

I have a bone to pick with the fashion industry.

Not with regard to any particular trend or style; no.

THE. WHOLE. DAMNED. THING.

What is “Fashion” anyway?

I’ll tell you: “Fashion” is when you take a useful item, garment, piece of equipment, etc., and copy it’s stylistic elements over to an “updated” version of the original design – without including any of the practical elements that made the original thing useful – and THEN proceed to manufacture the “updated” product out of literal refuse and industrial runoff.

“Fashion” is about fabricating appearances.

You think you’re buying a dress. Instead you’re buying industrial waste plastics that have been spun into filaments and fashioned into something that looks like a dress.

You think you’re buying a pair of boots. Instead you’re buying industrial waste plastics that have been melted and molded and layered and fashioned into something that looks like a pair of boots.

“Fashion” is the antithesis of usefulness and durability.

It is also the antithesis of actual style and good taste, because it is by design and by deliberate intention always changing. It doesn’t seem to matter if the “new fashion trends” are hideous; they only have to be different.

“Fashion” is also a tool of cultural subversion which is being used to propagate widespread “androgyny”(read: faggotry) among men and women alike.

For decades, the Fashion Industry has been churning out “women’s fashion” that is increasingly masculine, and “men’s fashion” that is increasingly feminine.

The majority of new “women’s clothing” available for retail sale in the U.S. are essentially made to fit men: wide shoulders, very little room for boobs, no waistline, and enough room in the crotch of every pair of pants I’ve tried on in the last ten years to smuggle at least a pound of salami without raising any eyebrows.

The majority of new “men’s clothing” available for retail sale in the U.S. has been trending in the opposite direction: narrower shoulders, “slimmer” fits, shorter rises, higher hip-to-inseam ratios, etc.

Pretty soon, most women will have to shop in the “Men’s” department, and most men with have to shop in the “Women’s” department.

They want us all to be trannies, soy boys, and bull dykes.

Those of us who cling to our respective masculine or feminine aesthetic, and depend on large clothing manufacturers to supply our daily wardrobes, will soon have a critical decision to make: wear the clothes that were made for the opposite gender and be “comfortable” – or try to dress like your actual gender, and put up with the discomfort and inconvenience of poor fit and restricted movement.

Footwear is a big problem, too.

We can start with the fact that most of it is engineered to fall apart within about three months of regular use (even when you’re spending extra on footwear sold on the premise of ruggedness and durability) – this should be criminal.

But there’s another problem: the shift of shoe-makers away from the art of cobbling – and on over into the craft of hobbling.

Most modern footwear is designed to absorb a portion of the energy of every step. This “shock absorption” is touted as something that is better for your joints – but the truth is that this design necessitates greater energy expenditure for every step taken, because the energy is absorbed instead of being transferred. Most shoes make each step “clunkier.” Your feet, ankles, and calves have to work harder to sustain locomotion.

Combine this nonsense with universally poor fit due to all footwear being built on lasts which represent an average of shapes instead of actually being built for any of them…

It’s a problem. It’s a big, huge problem – and a lot of people don’t even see it.

WHY?

Because people don’t really do anything anymore.

I have to chuckle a little under my breath when I hear feminist criticizing the “fashions” of yesteryear as being impractical or restrictive.

These same women have bought into a model of fashion which doesn’t even allow their arms to have full range of motion. Even MORE surprisingly, they’ve bought into a model of fashion that actually makes it harder for them to spread their legs. And which makes it all but impossible to, for example, quickly and easily take a pee in the woods.

In their desire to achieve a sleek, chic, boxy, curve-less, masculine silhouette – they shackle themselves.

Many years ago, I wised up to this – and I bought myself a collection of cute but very practical and well-fitting dresses. They’re all-cotton, they’re fitted (but also gathered and elasticized) through the shoulders and the waistline, and they have big, flared, knee-length skirts. These dresses afford TOTAL freedom of movement unlike anything else I’ve ever worn. I can run, and jump, and climb, and kick, and flail my arms around wildly, and nothing gets stuck or slips down or rides up.

I can do anything, and my clothes stay put. This comes as a surprise to most women.

Half a decade or so ago, I showed up for my first day at my brand new dishwashing job, wearing one such dress. You wouldn’t even believe the looks I got – or maybe you would. Lots of smugness and smirks, like “this girl can’t be for real.”

Turns out all those gals in their tight jeans and button-downs can’t even keep up with me.

It turns out that having your armholes positioned where your arms pivot, and having your waistline lined up with your waist, and not effectively binding your legs together, does quite a lot to improve mobility and efficiency in the workplace.

It turns out that if you actually spend a good portion of your life doing productive things, you eventually realize that you need clothes that move with your body.

“Fashion” is made for people who do nothing but sit, stand, or gently recline – all with their arms pinned down to their sides and their knees held together. If you do anything more than that, you run the risk of busting all the seams on your flimsy plastic frocks.

I don’t see “Big Fashion” ever turning around and reversing this trend of squeezing people into strange, anatomy-defying, movement-restricting clothing. I think “Fashion” was always a tool of social engineering, and always will be.

I suspect the only way forward, for those of us who don’t want to be faggots, is to reclaim, restore, and preserve the model of small-scale, domestic apparel design and manufacture. Functional, sensible garment design. Tailoring. Cobbling.

And I’m not talking about dumb hipster shit from retards who think they’re so special that their product transcends calculations of time and materials.

We need people who are willing to see themselves as micro-factory-workers – not people who peddle the same old garbage wrapped in words like “artisan,” “handcrafted,” and “one-of-a-kind” (which almost never means the design is unique – just that the workmanship is sloppy enough that two of the same thing will always end up looking different).

Otherwise we all gonna catch the gay.

Contemplating Mortality

I’ve never been afraid of death. It’s been on my mind since I was quite young. Not that I particularly WANT to die – not until I’m good and old, anyway. But it’s not scary.

The scary thing is realizing that I’ve wasted a lot of my time. The scary thing is realizing that I could have done a lot more by now – if I had made better choices.

This has all been driven home for me recently. In the Summer of 2017 I was bitten by a tick and contracted a form  of Lyme Disease that aggressively attacked my nervous system (neuroborreliosis). I’ve taken several courses of antibiotics since then, but it seems like nothing has killed it entirely yet.

When I first developed symptoms, they were sudden and horrific. Each time they’ve returned (they start creeping in several months after treatment), it’s been milder and more manageable – though it can still be somewhat debilitating for several weeks at a stretch, it’s not as bad as it was.

The next step is likely IV antibiotics – but I’m not quite willing to “go there” just yet. My understanding is that this bacteria is fairly persistent, and may need to be strategically defeated rather than just bombed with antibiotics which will also compromise the balance of other bodily systems. The good news is that it almost never kills people!

… Except by suicide. But I don’t think that will ever be my cup of tea.

Now there’s this whole COVID-19 Pandemic going on. I don’t even know what to think about that. On the one hand, we’re due for a good pandemic. On the other hand – it’s an election year. *shrug* Just saying.

I have no idea if I’d be considered “high risk” for this disease or not. I’ve read and heard and been told by doctors an awful lot that Lyme Disease suppresses the immune system – and I’ve definitely noticed a few little indications of that – things like my hair and nails growing more slowly, cuts and scratches taking longer to heal, easier bruising, stuff like that. But who knows! I’ve been around an awful lot of sick people and not gotten sick in spite of that. I like to think I’d pull through this virus like a champ, were to catch it.

But having been ill for so long already has left me feeling a bit… delicate, shall we say.

I’m a “better safe than sorry” kinda gal anyway – and to be frank with you: I like a good conspiracy theory. So the way it shakes out for me is that I’m buckling up for this to be something pretty big.

My family operates on some pretty tight margins (lol peasants). We can’t jet off to a tropical island or retreat to our home in the rural countryside. So for me, preparedness is all about buying time. Just enough time – to survive and to adapt to whatever it is that life is about to throw our way.

And it really struck me over the last few days, that that’s all I’m really doing, when you boil it down. That’s what life is: buying TIME.

Time for WHAT, though?

That’s the thought that kept running through my mind as I was stocking up over the last couple of weeks.

I’m no stranger to buying in bulk. Fun story about me: when I was 13 years old or so, my mother sent me to the store for “some ketchup.” She gave me five dollars. I walked the half mile or so home from the store toting a paper bag with no fewer than SEVEN bottles of ketchup in it. Because that was a darned good price, and I knew it would get used before it went bad. And I had a $5 ketchup budget. The folks at the local foodservice and wholesale places know me pretty well by now.

Buying enough of everything to last at least a couple weeks is second nature to me. I just bought a little extra this time. I had a lot of opportunity to take in the “vibe” of the stores where I usually shop in the few days leading up to the panic-buying-in-earnest. It was eerie. There weren’t very many people out and about. Some were stocking up on huge quantities of staple items. Some were only picking up one or two things. Everyone seemed to be “testing the atmosphere.” Fear and anxiety seemed to be literally IN the air.

And I just kept wondering: what is this time FOR? What is any of it FOR?

In my last post, I touched a little bit on the sorts of dreams and aspirations I had as a little girl that gave me my sense of purpose: I wanted to be a wife, mother, and homemaker. And eventually a grandmother. And a great-grandmother, and a great-great-grandmother… etc.

I didn’t think much beyond that. When people have asked me “don’t you want to be MORE than just a wife and mother?” I look at them like they are CA-RAY-ZAY insane. Nutso. What sort of other endeavor could I possibly come up with that would be more worthwhile than THAT? Do they really think that motherhood is a part-time undertaking? What in the heck?

I’m reminded of a quote I read somewhere, which is apparently from an out-of-print book I’ve always wanted to get my hands on and never have: “No other success can compensate for failure in the home.” (Home: the Savior of Civilization, James Edward McCulloch)

I recall thinking when I was younger that having children young would afford me time in my middle-age-and-older years to “have fun” or “make money.” I would achieve success in the home – and THEN I would achieve success in the world!

But these days I’ve discovered that I don’t like fun OR money. I find them disingenuous.

These days I see that there truly IS no logical end to this undertaking of motherhood.

What I have been searching for is the answer to the wrong question: the question of “what THEN?”

The correct question is “WHAT FOR?”

And as soon as I asked THAT question, I realized I’ve had THAT answer all along. I’ve just been a little bit afraid to come out and say it:

For GOD.

I’ve learned to keep really quiet about my faith over the years.

I even spent a long period of time actively denying my faith – to suppress the cognitive dissonance of living wrongly for the purpose of seeking the approval of MEN. I chose to put a man before God, and I have paid dearly for it.

In all my wounded stumblings back towards God, I have effectively lost people I love dearly; people who could not reconcile my love for them with the fact that I believe differently and choose to live differently than they do. I never preached to them; I never judged them. I gave of myself to these people freely and selflessly – time, money, labor, attention and kind words. I do not hold very MANY people dear, and it pains me to wonder if there might have been something that I could have said to any or all of those people, to somehow make them understand that my beliefs and the things I choose to propagate in the world are not a condemnation.

But I cannot continue to make the same mistake of seeking approval from my fellow humans before seeking approval from God.

It occurs to me that I have even still continued to effectively DENY God for the purpose of not ruffling feathers. I mean, I’ll tell anyone who directly asks that I believe in God – but how many times have slunk away from a conversation, for fear of potentially “triggering” someone by offering ANY kind of non-secular perspective?

And that’s all kinds of silly, isn’t it?

There are so many things in this world that could kill me, nevermind this stupid virus. I could be dead tomorrow for a hundred different reasons. And the same goes for every single tomorrow after that.

So, what’s it all for?

For GOD, dammit.

Goddammit.

Listen Up, Ladies:

Imagine that the world has gone all to hell (because it has – even if you haven’t noticed yet).

The institutions you have previously relied on to support your existence have crumbled.

It’s every woman for herself out there – and every man for himself.

Conflict is everywhere. Cooperation and community are virtually nowhere to be found.

Our FAMILIES – the most foundational and fundamental building blocks of society – are crumbling, being torn asunder, prevented from forming.

Do you relish this? Do you thrive on this chaos – on this decay of traditional society? Are you a strong, independent woman who rises up and whispers into the void that once was civilization – that it better get ready for the storm she’s about to unleash into it?

If yes, please kindly GTFO. There are plenty of places in the world which cater to that perspective, and this isn’t one of them.

But if you’re like me – if you’re standing here wondering what in the everloving hell just happened and why everything sucks and why everyone is stupid and wrong and delusional; why nothing is sacred, why traditions that might have sustained you are mocked, and why the children you dreamed of having in your youth are either nowhere found or formed in this world – or realizing that they are in grave peril for having found themselves in it…

YOU are my sister.

Whether you believe in any God or not. Whether you would stand with me in the bright-eyed optimism of purity and innocence – or in the anger and the sorrow of the deepest depths of degradation. Whether you have learned in the relative safety of faith and discipline – or in the costly school of experience and “hard knocks.”

If you have recognized the untruths that preside over the modern world – and if you give a damn about the ACTUAL TRUTH, and if you are willing to stand AGAINST the lies of modernity – to not give in to the temptations of their convenience and indulgence – then I would have you stand with me. And I would stand with you.