Psychics, Mystics, Witches and longings
I am recovered after the time at the Mystic Arts. It was hot, oh, so hot, but good. Lots of charming people all hovering on the edges of normal. Some dangling off the side, too, but most had a grip on a version of reality. It may not have been a totally pukka version according to all that says these things are Pagan, and I am not naming names, but it was good.
The flowers are outside the shop as usual, all enjoying the sun before the next trip along by the truncheon of police and the very charming Oliver with his council posse. I feel rebellious and naughty, but what is new? I think the rules are deeply silly, and until anyone gets deeply out of their pram enough to take me to court I will resist the rules. Me and the fishmonger, the vegetable shop, the nail parlour…… all down the street it is as if it never happened. So I am not really so brave and out there, alone.
I have watched the fabulous weather from inside for the past eight days or so, and it has been OK. I thought I would log to be basking, but no, I am happy watching the gradual undressing of the majority of the female version of human and wondered what is it that happens to taste, style, self esteem and any kind of modesty.
Oh, I sound so old, I know I do, but I come from the place that likes to look elegant and stylish. I shun bulgy, skin tight and transparent over very tight G-strings. I do, I do. But here in South London there is no such hindrance to total exposure of all that could be shown. No imagination needed. Plus the Primark Label is showing a lot, too, so people are not using their wallets to protest against the treatment of Tibet, just Facebook.
The body image is such a fascinating subject. Being a shopkeeper, resisting fashion and going along the stylish and elegant route I do work with a lot of women and their body image. Probably no more than most boutiques, but from a particular perspective in as much as I can say yes to anything up to a size 30, and help to work towards a positive and empowered way of dressing. A woman yesterday returned clothes that her husband refused to let her go out it. An interesting moment, hearing that, but it got more challenging as she then proceeded to take herself to bits in front of the mirror, was going to weight watchers and probably barely glanced at being a size 10. She had her mother with her who really did help her by saying that her figure was appalling and she would fit nothing in the shop.
I have metal shutters, internal ones, that roll down, noisily, when I have peaked on listening to crap. They crashed down yesterday.
You could say that I am judgemental, you could, but I don’t think it is that. I suppose having always struggled with my own body image and finally come to terms with it in my 40’s, I can see how endemic it is, the dysmorphia that we all live with. Not all of us, I know, but many.