As is probably evident from the title, this blog is an homage to
C. S. Lewis fashion.
Fashion can be chic, and it can be sleek, and it can be downright frickin’ odd. But—much like a liberal parent—I love it unconditionally, no matter which way it swings.
Even when its heinously ugly, I try to respect the creative effort. (You make it challenging, Johnny Weir)
I follow the blogs and read the magazines, but now I have to face the fact that my passion can no longer be contained. My passion…for fashion. Yes, I am going to a special, rhyming corner of hell.
But until then, I’m going to take a stab at chronicling the sartorial challenges and observations that come my way as I go about my life as a sort-of-adult/student at a small and occasionally trendy liberal arts college on the East Coast.
Of particular interest will be the daily struggle to add fashion outliers like this into my clothing cannon. Because I’m starting to realize that—while the kind of fashion decisions that won me the “Most Exotic Dresser” award in middle school don’t always translate to my grown-up life—I still believe that no plaid, shorty romper or massive pair of Nordic-print mittens should be left to languish at the back of the wardrobe.