D4TC: Forever Twenty-One, and Faster Fashions

Forever Twenty-One was one of the first stores I ever felt GOT me, in that delicate transition from teenhood to adulthood.

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The store was divided into four styles which I would call: boho chic, glamour, punk, and flower-child.  FINALLY, a place where I could express all the various parts of Sydney, at a reasonable price, and find matching accessories and shoes in the center of the store. My first pair of Forever 21 boots decomposed after a year, and shortly after, the clothes that I so coveted, shrunk, outgrew me, or overall no longer fit my design aesthetic. Time for another trip.

Except this time, I found that the store I loved was not longer found. While the four sections remained, the quality of the clothes was much cheaper, and the better made clothes were marked up right outside a college student’s budget. Eventually I would find the styles to be an amalgamation of too many things, and move on to other prey. What I did not know is that the rest of this is fast fashion. Being about to expedite completely new designs within 21 days was unheard of in the fashion industry, until fast fashion retailers like Forever 21, revolutionized the business. But is it a good thing?

Where do your clothes go when you’re done with them?

Rob Horning, author of “The Accidental Bricoleurs,” explores how Forever 21 came to power, and how even the name invokes this desire to aspire to a specific aesthetic. Twenty-one, defines maturity and the coming of age through clothes, taking advantage of the exploration of young people to FIND themselves in their clothes. It puts pressure on this idea of permanence, and aging, that anything below 21 is childish, and anything above is outdated. To be forever young, one must aspire to these ideas. Clothes are the after all, how people are most commonly judged.

Counterculture movements like Hipsters try to shop from thrift stores to acquire vintage items that set them apart, but how effective is this? Environmentally it is a blessing.

I’ve always donated my wearable clothing, and I’d like to think that someone would be very happy with my wardrobe. My clothes were trendy, in great shape, and only donated because of growth spurts. (damn you spent youth)

But I learned recently that only 20% of donated clothes are donated, and there are literal PILES of clothes just rotting about. There appears to be no real clear way of recycling or getting rid of clothing. Which is horrifying when compounded with all the other waste we produce as a planet.

And with those same counterculture’s being absorbed by retailers (Emos, Goths, Punks absorbed by Hot Topic, Hipsters by Urban Outfitters, Preps by Abercrombie and Fitch, we have to wonder whether we will actually be able to beat these issues without serious clothing disposal reform.

In the meantime, I’ll be looking at thrift stores with more interest than before. After all, it shouldn’t be that hard to find all black everything in a place like NY.

-Week 8

 

Gurlz

Gurlz

Currently I am creating a series called, “Gurlz,” in which I take photographs of my female friendships, and paint over them to evoke a feeling of their personalities and inner strength. I plan to make ten portraits in total.

 

Make-up Artist : Sydney Adams!

Being a Jack of all trades has it’s advantages and disadvantages. While I am a Swiss army-knife of art, I do have trouble focusing my talents into one direction.

Then again, I’m not a British boy band, so why should I focus in One Direction?

The world is bigger than me, and I am here to contribute.

Who am I to give less than?

The following is work that I’ve done independently, and on the set of Lizzie Beckett’s “Hush” and Sara Gruber’s “Pearls.”

Interested? Feel free to contact me.  If you’re a nonprofit organization putting on a play, (or something in the realm of volunteering) give me the details, and I might be able to do if for free.

Doctor Who: Reminiscing…

I am many things. A writer, a singer, a person who will use any excuse to dress up, much more. Of those things, a characteristic I am most proud of, is that I am a brilliant finagler.

My ability to procure what I seek is almost legendary. I am The Seeker. (The black female version…Seeker 3.0)

Despite this, even I was astonished when I procured, this bad boy.

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On November 23rd, “Day of the Doctor” the tell all be all for Whovians everywhere, I, Sydney Adams, managed to find tickets to a 3D showing.

For seventeen sweet sweet dollars.

I went through several sold-out movie theaters, because when you don’t have BBC One, or an American equivalent, or patience, you have to finagle.

I imagine Whovians everywhere are mourning the loss of Matt Smith/celebrating the Newbie/emotionally damaged after what occurred. I was listening to the radio and I nearly had a heart attack turning the volume down, because I heard someone talking about what, “The Doctor has been running from…”DUM DUM DUMM!

Don’t spoil it for me, I haven’t seen it yet.

Anyway, to celebrate Doctor Who in my own way, I decided to post my first feelings on Doctor Who from almost a year ago from this day.  I wasn’t always the fan I used to be.  I used to be indifferent. Now, all I can think about it how I have nothing to wear.

I wore this for the Deathly Hallows Part Two 12:00am premiere.

Also the Times Square Exhibition. Yes, I have problems. Harry Potter ain’t one a dem.

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*sniff sniff* We’re just so happy. (Also, say hi to Summer, the muse of the following section.)

Allon-sy!

My Runny is Toxic

My Runny is Toxic

My Runny is Toxic

Oo! You precious twenty-one year old baby.

How you amuse me with your words. Your…jive, thrive.

Your vernacular’s spectacular, sweet little thang.

I walked in, supah fine, crisp like wine, on a pair–a-legs that say I’m outta sight.

But here’s the change daddy-o.

You know how to step, you ain’t over easy.

Nay, with my groovy dips and hips I am divine, but you are the one worth precious time.

My brick house built baby, I can see a prize with these eyes. You are of the true few.

I ain’t sorry I wore heels, and you ain’t sorry you wore pants. So let’s dance, to the slip and slide of a new tide.

The beat is ours girl friend.

Let’s sing it til the end. 

 

 

The Final Showcase

The Final Showcase

The dress has form.

Behold it: a cardboard, paper poetry dress. This collection of words spells out the entirety of my Creative Writing semester. There are quotes from teachers on it, some MFA grad-students, my fellow undergrads, and of course, me.

I love it, I have no idea why I chose birds, but I think I was influenced by Alexander McQueen. (Though this is of course trash is comparison to his brilliance.)

Still, you gotta love it’s Avante-garde proportions. It has deep symbolic meaning hidden behind those feathers and charcoal drawings.

Somehow, my love of writing and fashion has coincided. It is a blessed, calming feeling. Sometimes I feel so scatterbrained.

I need focus in my life.

That realization has changed me. I’m becoming a very organized person, and I revel in that, but I am so happy that my creativity remains constant.

I was afraid I would lose it’s untainted purity if I didn’t make it like I always do: out of complete and utter chaos.

It is like a whirlwind, and I can barely hold on. It is exhilarating, and I wouldn’t change it for the world.

However, it is no way to work if one, like myself, wants to survive in the professional world. I’ve worked under deadlines, limitations, and word restraints, but never with my own work. It was copy-editing, revising, and researching for someone else.

Now it’s me, self-checking me. Talk about biased. Maybe I chose a bird because I’m learning so much.

Maybe I’m about to take flight.

Or…maybe, I just like to make bird dresses. Either way, it came out gorgeous.

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And remember what I said about forcing my roommate, the previously unnamed but now named, Sarah Park, into wearing it?

Well, she weaseled her way out of wearing the finished product, but I still got this.

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Yup.

Totally. Worth it.

-SDA

Project. Run away.

Project.  Run away.

So, I decided that the perfect way to advertise Prophet Productions was to make a dress out of cardboard and paper for our upcoming showcase. Why? I have absolutely no idea. For about a day it looked like that.

Luckily for me, I’ve watched enough Project Runway, Rupaul’s Drag Race, and Say Yes to the Dress to know how to sissy  any potential garment. A day later, it looks like this.

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Where I got the confidence to simply stand up and say, “I’m going to make a cardboard paper dress,” I shall never know. I’ve never done this before, but somehow, innately I am aware I can pull it off.

I blame marathons of fashion designer shows. Seven seasons and you think you’re a professional.

Me on the couch with Lays: “Oh…she must be blind. That hem is all wrong. How could she send that down the runway? Why didn’t she measure before she cut the chiffon?”

I know this because I’ve measured so much chiffon.

The difficulties I’m having in the execution of this dress are my punishment for mouthing off.

At least after this is done, I get to make my good friend/roommate/live-in hostage, wear it.

Gotta love a silver-lining.