Good Afternoon and welcome to Oulalie! The real time evolution of the little place, idea, feeling, product, collaboration, sound, thought, writing, artwork, THING...that could...or more to the point - had the audacity to.
To what? aaaaah! That's the million dollar question!
WHAT WILL SHE DO?
Shop at Alpha Thrift for starters.
It's awesome, but even for that you need money.
My bank account says -$27 today. That's MINUS.
"Some where over the rainbow..." My office is MAGICAL
A word about taste and the hilarity of unfettered audacity.
When I was a little girl in London (as I was every other summer from birth) maybe I was in Junior High...I noticed the "New Romantic" thing happening. The feathered hair and ruffled skirts, puffy shirts and polkadots - and oh my gosh was I feeling so different than before when I got a little spotted, ruffly outfit. A line had been drawn between who I had been and who I would become.
Later, as a teen in London scouring the Kings Road for Damned posters, winkle pickers, Bauhaus bootlegs, and some sort of accessory that would set me apart from the rest of California, to which I was fated to return - something that said "f off- leave me alone - I belong somewhere else". Looking for signs of Vivian Westwood or some trace of that strike that gave birth to punk rock as so many of us know it. Then, then I swooned with disgust at the thought of my awful taste some years back...not thinking about how lame this skinny peg legged all in black but for that too small green velveteen jacket teen must seem, with almost a dozen holes in her ears and undoubtably a terrible hair and skin to boot - I was not thinking how bad that might look through that window of tomorrow.
But aaah, now I've got it. The over priced anthropology shirt with the new romantic thrift store ruffle number over a little house on the prarie print skirt below which my cut of striped sox assert themselves. It screams "everlasting style, not fashon! I walk outside your paralell bars and remove myself from your sphere of comparisons. I am truth and joy."
I have NO illusions (accepct for a few if I am going to be honest) that I look good, or cool, or that I will look back on this period with a fondness for my fashion lack of sense. Nope. I am a pleasure monger who loves relationships, who adores exchanges, and wrap my self in these odd couplings daily because.
"Yab yab yab" says Laura Ingles to Peter Murphy, "blah blah blah" says the Abba chick to that dissatisfied overprivalaged housewife. "Anarchy" says John Lydon to the Lancome lady. And the girl in the middle of it all smiles and thinks about who else she wants to introduce.