Dear you,
Style. The art of
style has lost a leader. Andre Leon
Talley is gone, a fashion icon, pop culture innovator, and inventor of the concept
“Drektitude”. He defined that as “the
lowest point in the lowest ebb. It could
be your look. It could be your
shoes. It could be that you’re standing
wrong. ‘Drek’ is a total, total, total
hot mess.”
Unfortunately, before his passing, he probably had to
witness massive Drek on display at that “T” rally in Arizona last weekend, quite
the lowest ebb. The crowd was as expected,
the usual cast of characters, and loaded with way too many citizens who should
know better. I mean women in particular. See the old photo above. Their look, their pollical and (anti)intellectual
stances, alas, all wrong. I can’t see
their shoes, but I imagine something tragic from Shoe Carnival. Poor dears, a “total, total, total hot mess.” I wonder if all the crimes against style we
see at those rallies irked Talley. It had to at least depress him. But he had a
way of rising above the worst type of drek. I wish I could rise like that in
the face of so so so much ongoing Drektitude.
In my little world, Drektitude appeared in the form of
someone pretending to be me. He/she gave my phone number and email address to
the Jehovah’s Witnesses. Bless their hearts. The JWs emailed and then later called about “my
request” to be visited by their missionaries or something. I placed the emails in spam land and when I
got a call, I had to forcefully repeat over and over that I had made no such
request. After answering pointless
questions about my Bible literacy or lack thereof (saying I was a bit of a
heretic didn’t help), I finally convinced the JW caller to delete my contact information
and try to find out who posed as me.
This was fraud, a minor level fraud that might have just been a
practical joke. Still, it reeked of Drektitude.
More Drektitude has appeared and it is parked behind
building 13. The vehicle’s rear bumper
has the remains of a sticker, most of the message scratched away in a haphazard
manner. All that remains is the first letter, a capital G, and a small case “s”
at the end. What was the original statement?
“Go Warthogs?” “Get off my ass?” I
stood there for a minute playing parking lot Wheel of Fortune and then decided
to “read” the car itself to help me fill in the message gap. The windows,
filthy and dotted with tiny handprints. The entire back seat and all floors,
littered with beef jerky wrappers, Dorito bags, crushed Marlboro packs, random tube
socks turned inside out, and lots and lots of rope. Rope? The car is loaded with serial killer
drek. Note to self: avoid contact with building 13 occupants
unless armed with pepper spray.
Final Drektitude exhibit for your consideration: my leopard print cotton top I am wearing
right now. It embodies every “oh honey
no” quality associated with senior lady clothing: the cut is off the shoulder but not broad enough
to pass as a retro-Flasdance look, the print is so wrong – leopards don’t sport
huge melanoma looking blotches, and the base color is gas station bathroom beige. I like it because it’s comfortable and soft
and have avoided public Drektitude by not wearing it outside the condo; except
when I dash to the garbage dumpster back by the serial killer car. In private, and unwittingly at times in
public, I too am a hot, hot mess.
Talley said, “people need to be edited”. I know the rally ladies, religious recruiter/joker,
creepy car owner and leopard topped me should keep that in mind. People need to be edited.
I love that. I love him,
floating above us and reminding us always to lean towards beauty: “Beauty is
health. Health is beauty.” Leave it to Talley to refine a classic
platitude and edit it with style. The
complete opposite of Drektitude.
Salud!
Joyce
