Karen Fraser - BB Guest Fashion Blogger
We are excited to have the talented, beautiful, and fashionable Karen Fraser as our Guest Blogger today. If we are lucky, Karen and her marvelous writing will be a regular occurrence on the BB Blog. Thanks to Karen, for sharing her thoughts and outfits with us.
All photos taken by Brittany on their trip to Chicago last month.
On our trip to Chicago, I think I wore the total opposite of what so many Chicagoans were wearing. Brittany, Heidi, and I walked the streets of Lincoln Park for nearly seven days, and all I could see covering the swaths of people was athletic gear complete with neon-bright sneakers. Always sneakers. I mean, the people looked good, pretty as they were with their gorgeous figures and tanned skin, the spandex showing off all their hard workout work to perfection. We had to consider whether the people of Chicago ever did anything else besides working out, since we always seemed to see them in one of three stages: before-, during-, or post-workout. Funnily enough, writing that sentence makes me think of the assumptions friends and family (actually just my dad and brother) make about my state of coming or going when I wear my tan jacket indoors. My dad usually asks me if I’m going somewhere, and, usually, I’m not. It’s just one of my favourite jackets, and I wear it inside sometimes. It’s a habit – I always wear or take a jacket. And I see sneakers and spandex have become a Chicagoan habit.
Okay, so I’ve made some assumptions about Chicagoans. I think I may have a bit of a theory about all the sneaker wearing, though. It’s aspirational. If you wear sneakers often enough, you’re bound to do some physical activity, right? When I wear sneakers, I feel like I’m lighter and move faster. I might be out for a walk, but what I really want to do is run. And, oh, did we ever see runners in Chicago. Day or night, Wednesday afternoon or Saturday evening, people ran by us, calling out which side they were on as they passed. I felt terribly weighed down as I walked along in my mushroom-coloured oxfords.
Yet, I encountered a contradiction. Britt and I looped through a consignment store on Clark, a hip street full of summering college students from the nearby DePaul University, and lining the shelves atop the racks of clothes were sky-high stilettos, six- or seven-inch platforms. I hadn’t seen a collection that was so solidly stilettoed in a long time… maybe not since I went to L.A. a number of years ago. Is it a U.S. thing, this stiletto collecting? What really strikes me about it, though, is that this is the real aspirational shoe wearing. Rather than seeing rows of sneakers – which women actually wear, because they’re freaking comfortable, dammit – we see rows of stilettos, because we’ve bought them only to consign them soon (or not so soon) after, thinking we can teeter on the spike heels, looking chic and elegant like the woman on the billboard advertising a new condo development just down at the end of Clark Street, at the start of a new life.
Who do I aspire to be in my outfit? I assemble it so I will feel put-together and prepared, two things I need in order to face a day. Out of my suitcase I pull my turquoise skirt, wrinkled because it’s rayon and does not travel well (and I ask myself, why do I bring this?), and my grey-striped sleeveless blouse with a twist front. I pull both on, fasten the buttons on the skirt, and glide the zipper up the side of the blouse. I tie the striped ties, attached at my sides, in a bow at my lower back, and I fold my scarf into a triangle and knot it around my shoulders. They’re an old habit, scarves. Borrowed from my mom’s closet and not returned, this scarf and a handful of others have added a finishing touch to my outfits since high school. This one consistently works in my favour, pulling together the colours of the outfit in a single place. This time, it serves a second purpose: the floral fabric covers the remnants of a ridiculous burn I got earlier in the week during a downtown architecture boat tour. Now, I have to deal with the tremendously awkward shapes on my skin: a circle burn just above my would-be cleavage and weird splotchiness along my collarbone. My clothing has made silhouettes on my body.
When people walk by me, I want them to notice the silhouette I make. My skirt swings, my scarf flutters, my hair piles, wavy and soft, on top of my head. I’ve created an outfit that, at this moment in time, suits the assumptions I think others might make about me. I often wear low-heeled shoes, because I still have enough vanity to try and make an elegant impression. To look “chic-y,” as one woman who was walking her dog along Halsted Street said to me. That was, admittedly, an odd turn of phrase, but it made me bloom inside a little. That time I was wearing my comfortable shoes. No, not sneakers. I’ll leave those to the women running by.
-Karen Fraser