There’s nothing like going to a museum exhibit about fashion to remind me of the ways that industry and art wrap around one another in a hideous embrace annihilating the possibilities for creativity outside of commodity. Two of my favorite moments at “30 Years of Japanese Fashion” at the Seattle Art Museum. 1. A mannequin wearing a brightly-colored, layered, cartoonish outfit, labeled “Street Style” by Anonymous. This in a show consisting almost entirely of outfits made by exclusive designers that occasionally are interesting and almost certainly all cost several thousand dollars each, all labeled with the designer's name, birthdate, and year of collection 2. The roomful of Commes des Garcons outfits that come complete with down pillows that you can insert in different places in your body to create “strange” shapes — that’s right, once you manage to anorexify yourself enough to fit into one of these dresses, you can also squeeze in an extra lump on one side of your ass. Or, maybe a hump on your shoulder. This from the designer that the exhibit tells us is widely regarded as the most influential of the last 30 years. No doubt taken from the company’s press release.
There’s nothing like waking up feeling so obliteratingly awful, head glazed and will I ever wake up? I mean I’m awake: will I ever get out of bed? I mean I’m out of bed: will I ever feel better?
I keep developing more and more skills for dealing with how awful I feel. And I feel more and more awful. Days like today, I don’t know what to do. I thought I was feeling a little better, coasting along with the energy from editing, but now I’m annihilated again, a deep sadness pouring out and where is that coming from? Could it be the season change — sometimes this happens when fall starts, even though fall has always been my favorite season. In Seattle is probably not my favorite season, since fall mostly just means darkness for the next eight months. It’s amazing how quickly the winter approaches. The Seattle conversation: did some are just start, or is it over?
But I don’t know if that’s what this is about. I’m not even sure I care. I just want to start feeling better, in some way, any way, something discernible that doesn’t also make me feel worse, some sense that I’m moving through all these chronic health problems that become more and more debilitating. Even if I become better at coping. Better coping, and more isolated. More limited in terms of what I can do, and especially how I can interact with the outside world, without making me feel even worse.