Friday, October 24, 2008

The Lost Art Of Prettiness

I think I may have been born in the wrong time period. This land of jeans and sweatshirts feels slightly foreign, and I find myself daydreaming of lace and petticoats. I love the idea of a woman being a woman, and even ever-so-slightly girlish. Satin and silk, lace and big bouncy bows all bring a smile to my lips. While I completely understand the need for comfort and maneuverability, I would readily give that up if I could wear dresses like the Balmain creation pictured above on a daily basis. There was a time in the not so distant past when a woman would not be caught dead without lipstick, mascara, and gloves. But these days, in our microwave quick, drive-through window kind of world, all is done in the name of instant gratification. We can't, or don't want to take the time to roll our hair or fuss with layers of clothing and undergarments, so we throw on our trusty pair of jeans, pile our hair into a ponytail, and rush out the door, completely bypassing our sacred right as women to take pride in the way we look. Not for men or even for other women, but for ourselves. I have been guilty many times of this, as I've become accustomed to the rapid-fire pace of our world. But I have to admit that I savor those special times when I can spend hours getting ready for a fun night. I love the rituals of being a woman. And I especially love that magical Cinderella moment after I've been transformed; when I can look in the mirror, do my little twirl, and thank God that I was born a girl. 
( The above picture is from the Victoria & Albert Museum's Golden Age of Couture Exhibition.