Loitering and Sauntering

Don't tell anyone, but I actually watched Lifetime. Well, we all will next year when "Project Runway" hits the channel. However, I got sucked in by the Chanel movie. Not particularly good, except for the clothes. I love me some Chanel. Not that you could tell. As I write this, I'm sitting in a Gap tee and track pants. Don't worry. I'm not in public.

Coco is a hero of mine. So is Anais Nin, Edith Head and Dorothy Parker. I like irreverent, groundbreaking, trailblazing women. Especially if they have a hint of hussy about them. I should've been a flapper. Prohibition would've been a bitch, though.

I'm not too much of a clothes horse, but there are certain things I do adore. The chicness of Coco's creations. The classic lines of Edith Head. Sadly, I've come to find that curves get in the way of some of the styles I love. The booty is not a friend of the simple sheath or drop waist. The fitted waists and full skirts of the fifties work. They just aren't practical for everyday living. But, when I look at the styles of Chanel and Head, their innovation and timeless grace, I stand in awe. Then go to my closet and cry.

My computer doesn't judge my attire. Words don't know what I'm wearing. Maybe that's why I'm most comfortable with them and write best when I have something soft on.

Most of my contemporary writing influences are men. Not sure why, but it's just worked out that way. Irvine Welsh and David Sedaris are the two at the top. But the two in my heart are broads. In the best sense of the word.

The wit of Dorothy and the descriptive prose (not porn) of Anais are the marks I regularly miss in my writing life. But, they keep me striving. I doubt I will live up to their level of mischief, either, but a girl can try. The lives they lead are as much of an inspiration as their words. It deepens the context of what they typed or let drip from their fountain pen. We have it almost too easy now. It's hard to have moxie in the wireless age. I think even that can be ordered online.

I've been known to buck convention on occasion. I did burn my bra (in college at a bonfire, and it was my best one), but I put another on the next day (I fight gravity like the enemy it is). But, I wonder what trails are left to be blazed? Which rules haven't been broken? What new direction can one travel? What might I offer the women who will follow me, even just those of my kin? I got to step in the shoe prints of Susan B. and Gloria G., have my eyes opened by Toni Morrison and Maya Angelou. I feel like a dilettante in the shadows of these great dames, loitering and sauntering my way through womanhood. Slowly, I'm finding my way. In a good pair of heels, Chanel shades and a Gap t-shirt.