Fascist Fashion


People are weird.

Whenever they see me wearing something that does not fit my usual color scheme of black, blacker, dark and darker, they say “Wow, you look nice! That shirt/pants/dress is totally in style now!”

I’ve had white hairs since I was 16, and people always regarded me with a look that said “Why isn’t she dying her hair? She must have zero fashion sense”. Yet, just recently, a friend of mine saw my white hairs which tend to grow mostly in the front and said “Wow! I wish I had that streak of white hairs! It’s totally in style now!”

And anytime I walk into a clothing store (which happens VERY rarely since they never have what I’m looking for and I end up buying my clothes online), the employees always suggest things that are in style even if I asked for something completely different. So a conversation might go something like this:

Me: “I’m looking for a pair of jeans that are not skinny and are low rise.”

Store employee: [pulls out a pair of skinny high-rise jeans] “Try these, they’re totally in style now.”

Me: [audible sigh] “Never mind. Do you have a hemp purse with a long strap with no shiny decorations on it?”

Employee: [pulls out a faux leather purse, with a short strap, embroidered with fake diamonds and beads] “Why not this purse? It’s way more fashionable than the one you want.”

This is yet another reason why I don’t waste my time going to clothing stores that sell stuff that is “in style”. The employees just never listen to me.

People don’t seem to understand that I don’t buy, wear or look for stuff that is “in style”. I’m looking for stuff that is MY style. Because, God forbid, if I ever wear something that just isn’t me, I hate every minute of it and I feel like a fraud. This one time I went to a party I didn’t want to go to, but I was forced into going by my cousin who was visiting from Canada. My cousin also forced me to wear fashionable clothes and shoes because she said they wouldn’t let me in the club if I was wearing my regular metalhead attire.

“Good!” I said. “I don’t want them to let me in. I don’t even want to go!”

But my cousin was unrelenting. I wore the fucking ugly clothes and wanted to kill myself the entire fucking night.

This is the curse of fashion. People will force it on you, and at times, they will force it on you so hard that you will eventually give in if only to make them shut the fuck up.

You have no idea how awful I look with stylish clothes, and you have no idea how awkward I feel. And it seems to me like my husband is the only one who understands me because whenever I wear something that isn’t me, he doesn’t say what everybody says (“Wow! You look great, you’re in style!”). Instead, he says it like it is: “Meh, it will take some getting used to.”

Peace, love and conformists


Pretty in Metal


Last night, I was at a metal night in central Jerusalem. It’s a weekly thing and I’ve been enjoying it quite a bit. The problem is that now it’s starting to get really cold at night, and I hate to think about the impending wintertime with the rain and cold winds and snow and blahhhhh.

My cousin says he loves winter because it’s cloudy and dark. Dark, I can dig. I like dark too. But cloudy, no. Cloudy reminds me of things I don’t really care for, like Montreal weather.

However, I decided to try and keep a positive mindset. Like back in Italy, on that day where it looked like the Goddess took an enormous bath up in the heavens and then pulled out the plug from the drain, and my shoes got flooded up to the ankles, I kept a positive mindset by imagining I was walking on the shore of a beach on a cloudy day, and the water swishing around my shoes were the waves.

Amon Amarth Hoodie

So this winter, I decided to shop my winter blues away, starting with this fucking awesome Amon Amarth hoodie from eBay. This will not only help to keep me warm, but it’s also totally metal. I have no Amon Amarth merch, so this will be my first. It will also be awesome to wear for Amon’s show at Wacken this summer. Sure, it might be warm, but I’m suspecting they will go onstage sometime at night, and Germany is in Europe and I’ve been to Europe enough to know that summer doesn’t always equal warm. Especially at night. So yeah, I’ll be ready with my hoodie.

I also came across some really cute-yet-totally-badass dresses made from metal t-shirts of bands that I like, like Mercyful Fate and Arch Enemy. I thought it would be great to score one of these one-of-a-kind DIY dresses and wear it with the skulls tights I got at a second-hand sale last summer. Many of the dresses I came across were either too short or too colorful and looked like they will really not fit with my tights… until I came across this.

AE dressI’m not much of a dress chick, but sometimes I am. Haha! And this dress will look great on any metal night this winter, along with my skull tights and my black velvet winter jacket (with the metal buckles and the faux fur on the collar). That jacket is warm enough so that I won’t have to wear another layer to cover my arms and shoulders. I’m also really happy that the hem of the dress reaches right over the knee. All the other dresses I saw exposed way too much of the thigh, and mini dresses are totally not my thing. No matter how metal they are.

By the way, if the reader is also interested in more such kickass dresses, you can visit Dolly Darko’s Etsy page here.

I am still on the hunt for a Mercyful Fate hoodie, but I haven’t yet found the right one for me. These items are rare and rather expensive, and I’ve spent close to 400 NIS already. So I rather wait until I find the exact hoodie I like before blowing another 100 or 200 on it or something.

Peace, love and winter could be cool after all 🙂

Wear and Tear


These days, I find myself wearing up to three, sometimes four, different outfits every day. Some mornings during the week, I wake up early to walk a dog and babysit a kid. Since they don’t care what I look like, I wear my comfy clothes. And because walking a dog involves scooping up crap, and because the kid I babysit has an affinity for wallowing around in mud, my attire should be one that I don’t care to get dirty.

Later on in the day, I go to my part-time office job where I wear a very conservative pair of black pants and white button-down shirt. This is what I call my conformist outfit. Though I don’t particularly hate it, I don’t like that it hides me completely – I turn into a boring, non-pierced, non-tattooed, identity-less secretary.

In the evening, I go back home to my pajama and my bedsheets. If I’m going out that evening, I wear my more revealing metalhead/squeegee clothes if I’m going over to my boyfriend’s place, or a bit more layered version of my metalhead/squeegee outfit if we’re going to a bar or a live show, and a slightly toned-down version of said outfit if we’re going to dinner at my boyfriend’s parents.

This is my weekly clothing dance. This doesn’t even include the times where I go to a formal event and have to wear a skirt or a dress (long or short, depending on the location and respective religiosity); or on holidays with my family, where I can wear whatever I want but not before a long, nagging argument with my mom who expresses constant disapproval of my attire without fail; or at the Kotel, where I wear my ultra-dossi clothes with a septum-ring twist.

I don’t know why I do it. Back in the day, I didn’t give a flying fuck and used to show up at the synagogue with cutoff shirts and torn jeans. Maybe I’m getting old… but I don’t like to think that way. I like to think that my clothes don’t always define who I am. That’s a superficial way of looking at it. No matter what I wear, even if it’s my boring conformist work outfit, underneath all that, my nipple rings are firmly in place, my sleeve tattoo is forever engraved in my flesh, and my kickdrum heart still beats to the rhythm of Arch Enemy and Bikini Kill tunes. If my clothes don’t always reflect that, it’s ok.

It’s like my cousin who wears a kippa and still blasts metal tunes on his player. People don’t get it, because in their minds, you are what you wear. I say I am what I am. My clothes don’t define me. I define me.

Peace, love and wardrobe malfunction galore.