fashion statements

I like watching certain people. In fact, I'll admit to it. I track them. Not in a stalker-like scary manner, no. But when they are around, I can't help but look at them. One of the people I look out for is this French girl who used to stay in my dorm building. At first I liked looking at her because she was French, and she seemed really cute like Amelie Poulain. She had slightly disheveled hair and glasses, and looked every bit the romantic French scholar/artist. And you wonder why I like looking at her.

She always wore black. Street clothes, comfy clothes. Always black. I thought it was a fashion thing, a fashion statement. She was someone I sort of knew, a person who would smile at me and whom I would smile at if we happened to meet. We had a mutual friend, but I never really got to know her. But I've always thought that she was adorable.

I finally saw her again recently, after the summer. I've seen her twice since school started and the first thing that I noticed was that she no longer wore black. No, she had very smart looking clothes, very colorful, very fashionable. Perhaps she finally decided to dress the French way: stylishly. It's not an overbearing stylishness. She still sticks to the simple cuts and fabrics. But it changed everything for me.

I'm sure she's her cute usual self, and nothing traumatic happened this past summer. But why was she in black every single day for a year? Was that the normal thing, or is the colorful clothing the normal thing for her? Was she in a phase? Was she in mourning? Is she in a phase now? I have to admit, I'm currently in a black phase, but I wouldn't wear too much black because I don't want my phases to look too obvious. I mean, what will I do with a ton of black clothes when it's over? And really, there was no trigger, but what if people started asking?

I'm doing to her exactly what I don't want people to do to me if I went into an overt black phase and got out of it -- wonder if there is a deeper reason. As far as I'm concerned, there is no reason for me to go into a black phase. Perhaps this is how it is for her. No rhyme, no reason. Just a passing fascination.

With fashion, we are allowed to be fickle. I must remember to not read too much into anything.