I find the British accent most endearing from the mouths of little children, and I gather that the adults have just not grown out of it, defiantly, in order to hold on to their playful characters; personalities which inevitably materialize into a more holistic expression not limited to language- namely through fashion. Like the construction worker on the tube, with his studded lace up boots that he shows off under a cuff of jean, completed by a shabby-sheek cordoroy jacket, looks out from under circular rimless glasses, and the sixty-something poshly dressed woman who brushed by me on the street with spunky pink-blond hair. And lastly the old man in Café Pompidou gazing out the window, his white hair in spiral fluffs as if from a tornado wind-gust, who through his countenance wore the freshest expression that seemed to be saying as his eyes met mine, “Oh yeah, you’ve got dreams? So did I. So do I.”
Common threads of style for the people of London have vivacious characteristics which constantly challenge expectations to an extent I find positively delightful. For however unlimited they be in dress, it seems to apply in spirit and potential as well. In a consumer-driven culture much like that of the U.S; here, "things" have more of a transcendent power for individualizing people in the vast masses of faces verses inducting them into the realm of a certain status or social acceptance.
There is no ‘blending-in’ in London. Don’t let the stereotypical neutral color-palated wardrobe deceive you. Londoners find ways to draw attention, and even if you’re trying to be discrete, you’re constantly being scanned and evaluated by your dress. Image is big business here, and people take it seriously. The paradox goes though, that while everyone’s indulging in curiosity, you are either deliberately or inadvertently inviting others to be curious about you. This results in a difficult game on the tube in which you're telling yourself "don’t look there now," but then you can’t help it and do, and find someone’s looking at you and there’s a constant collision of glancing followed by a reflex aversion of the eyes. Everyone shrugs it off as- I mean I see you but it was an accident we happened to be looking in the same direction- but really, people won’t admit that they’re curious. And I think the British people of the city of London are insecure about this fact that they're intensely interested in other people, so they cover it up with snobbery. So coy!
Each day I attend class, I take the Piccadilly line of the Tube in the direction of Cockfosters; and yes, even the British people giggle somewhat ashamedly when the loudspeaker announces the route. Cockfosters.
Cheers.
There is no ‘blending-in’ in London. Don’t let the stereotypical neutral color-palated wardrobe deceive you. Londoners find ways to draw attention, and even if you’re trying to be discrete, you’re constantly being scanned and evaluated by your dress. Image is big business here, and people take it seriously. The paradox goes though, that while everyone’s indulging in curiosity, you are either deliberately or inadvertently inviting others to be curious about you. This results in a difficult game on the tube in which you're telling yourself "don’t look there now," but then you can’t help it and do, and find someone’s looking at you and there’s a constant collision of glancing followed by a reflex aversion of the eyes. Everyone shrugs it off as- I mean I see you but it was an accident we happened to be looking in the same direction- but really, people won’t admit that they’re curious. And I think the British people of the city of London are insecure about this fact that they're intensely interested in other people, so they cover it up with snobbery. So coy!
Each day I attend class, I take the Piccadilly line of the Tube in the direction of Cockfosters; and yes, even the British people giggle somewhat ashamedly when the loudspeaker announces the route. Cockfosters.
Cheers.
I've gotta say, when I was in London a couple weeks ago and hopped on the Tube, I actually stopped and stared at the Piccadilly map because of Cockfosters.
ReplyDeleteGlad to see you're enjoying your time in London, Emily ^^
Don't forget to hit up an Arsenal game! Piccadilly line to Arsenal. Huge game against Barca tomorrow..tickets might be scarce, but maybe worth a look! Hope all is well. Watch out for those Brits!
ReplyDeleteI have to say that when I was done reading the first paragraph, I literally stopped to soak in the legitimacy of your bold observations. I can actually picture the old man with tornado-blown hair sitting in that cafe pondering his own dreams as you sit there pondering your own. It's unfortunate that the state of the economy around the world as well as racial, gender, and class discrimination has left us constantly worrying about whether we will ever actually get to live out the big dreams we have for ourselves. Still, I say things happen the way they are supposed to and live your life according the status you uphold. Perhaps that man was thinking the exact thoughts you have written, but maybe he had gone a little further in saying, "So did I, but you are much younger than I and still have loads of opportunities to prosper in your dreams." As long as we may find contentment and appreciate the place we are in today and everyday for the rest of our lives, we will be living our dreams.
ReplyDeleteAs for the importance of fashion, I can say that I have had very similar experiences here in Italy. People take their dress very seriously and the way you present yourself through clothing and acessories says absolutely everything about your social status and the kind of person you are. Since being here, I have tried so hard to "blend-in" and not be perceived as an "Americana". Still, this is a difficult task to do and I am still trying to figure out why. These Europeans sure know how to dress. There has been only one time when I left my apartment actually wearing sweatpants and sneakers, and might I say, it was also the last time. I only needed to run to the "Tabacchi" shop down the street to buy some more minutes for my cell phone, and I have never received so many body scans and looks of disgust in so short a period of time. It was as if the Italians on the streets were judging me as some American girl who had no confidence or pride in herself and her appearance. I am convinced that looks are everything to Italian men and women because to them, looking good means feeling good. On the contrary to British thought, Italians have no interest in understanding other people. The men are only interested in sex and fantasies about American girls and the women are only interested in themselves. This is not to say the Italians are not good people--it is simply a different culture with different mentalities than those we are used to in the States. For your reasoning, I am excited to visit London for the mere purpose of feeling like strangers are actually curious about me. Here, they've already got you figured out: "You American girls, you only come to Italy for the pasta and the SAUSAGE."
Cockfosters.
Ciao Bella!