A Fetish LifeFetish. What a delicious word. Full of promise and expectation: sensual and provocative. Historically, its meaning became synonymous with bondage, perversion and dark uncontrollable lusts which, down the years, has lead us to where we are today: the spreading branches of multi-fetishism portrayed and played out in every day life. From the simple consumerist application of hawking red lipstick to every Rihanna video ever made, fetish is employed in an attempt to package and sell what we all want most of all: to be desired and admired.
For me, fetish isn't something to be switched on and off: it's ritualistic and entirely hard-wired. Although I wasn't born with every nuance of my personality as it is today, I continually develop my own rituals in patterns of thought and parlance, physical actions within the framework of general life and interaction with others. I think of it as my own personal code of conduct: a sort of mental and emotional commandment handbook which, although not set in stone, gives me a distinct sense of self and a defined outline of what I believe constitutes my best approach to a life well lived... and enjoyed. Let me explain... |
Charmed, I'm sure.
I adore meeting new and interesting people. The joy of accidental introductions turning into never-forgotten conversations, regardless of ever meeting that person again, are to be cherished. I have a ritual, upon meeting an intriguing person that involves questions I simply must learn the answers to... and another set of questions I would never care to ask, for example:
Do tell...
'Where are you from, and where have you been"? Place has always been of vast importance to me. Nomads and home-birds are of equal interest, but the places we inhabit shape and imprint us with our unique texture. As much as we are products of our environment, I also believe we leave our marks wherever we go. I thrill in meeting artists who've painted or drawn landscapes I know well, or authors who've written about places I dream of visiting. I think about the resonance of our voices echoing in the same caves and castles, and the spreading ripples from a stone thrown in an ocean where I've stood at the same shoreline - sometimes many years apart. A simple connection of one human being reaching out and recalling the same memory as another can be as powerful and fulfilling as any lived experience. |
Don't ask...
"What do you DO"? This is really just a thinly veiled way of saying "Tell me your professional status and annual salary immediately". Neither of which contrive to make a person interesting. "What car do you drive"? Thankfully, a person can waft by in a cloud of Guerlain or have beautifully manicured and flawlessly painted finger nails to quietly hint at their sensibilities, rather than rely on a boring lump of modernist metal on wheels to punch home the message in a noisy and unutterably crass manner. However, whilst loudly announcing your apparent desirability by way of state-of-the-art motorised transport is terribly cloddish, merely arriving with quiet elegance is quite the reverse. Furthermore, if the vehicle in question was built before 1964 and appears to glow sentiently within a force-field of burnished walnut, well-worn Connolly leather, low-fi purring and the wholly refined sensibilities of its dashing owner, all the better. |
Listen, then speakI loathe people who talk only of themselves. We've all met 'em. Those crushing bores who trap you in corners at parties and talk at rather than to you. Within twelve seconds of meeting such a sort, you're all too well aware of their religious, political and social views, who cuts their (laughably awful) hair and exactly how much they hate their boss/mother-in-law/husband's sister's auntie Joan who once thought they were pregnant when they bumped into her shortly after ingesting a large lunch.
What to do? There you are, squeezed into that damn corner with a frustratingly empty glass, having preened yourself to utter perfection because you knew your latest crush was also on the guest list, and this ignoramus has got you pinned. Well, quite simply, just because they are yawningly dull and oblivious to anyone but themselves does not mean you have to be rude... at least, not immediately. I have a five minute rule: if, within that time, they have neglected to ask a single question of me, I excuse myself for a politely insistent cause: a visit to the powder room or the pretence of having seen someone I really must speak to tend to work well. Once free, I tune up my peripheral vision and, should they hove into view again, I sharpen my claws and suggest that I may be about to vomit on them if I have to listen to another second of their useless drivel. Pin me once and I'll make my escape mindful of your feelings. Dare to bore me again and you'll be thoroughly deserving of a very public tongue lashing... and not the kind you'd happily recommend to your more adventurous friends. Next time: How to lose friends and inconvenience people. |
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Vanity: it's just good groomingI wasn't born beautiful and never consider myself so. No-one is really born beautiful (except Aphrodite and she was the literal embodiment of turning a sows ear into a silk purse - or, more correctly, a cock into a goddess).
Where would we be, left to our own devices, without the lipstick, powder and paint, or indeed the devilish machinations of generations of artists hell-bent on delivering their approximations of beauty to ever-lasting canvas? Would we still be preening ourselves? I believe the short answer is "yes". The longer answer is that, as mere animals, we'd still need to tart ourselves up sufficiently to find a mate and that would certainly involve at least a modicum of grooming. My own regime is constantly refined: lotions and potions added or removed, different methods tried and tested and many hours dedicated to a process, without which, I would appear very differently to you, my dears! Vanity certainly plays a part. I would no more relax my efforts in front of you than I would expect to feel comfortable naked in the middle of Trafalgar Square. You see, the end result of my ritualistic grooming regime is my armour: a shell within which I happily dwell, confident in the knowledge that I could appear no more beautiful if I tried. But, vanity is not my all. Being groomed is to be ordered in mind and spirit. From the second I step under the freezing cold needles of the shower and feel my blood start to race, to the moment I give my skirt one final smooth and exit the house, I am paying homage to traditions handed down to me by my mother and grandmothers. Beauty itself is a tradition that women perpetuate for a million reasons: to feel confident, to cheer ourselves, to impress, to seduce. It's for glamour, fun and love. Being groomed is one of the simplest, yet perhaps the most important, things a girl can do for herself because it assists us in projecting a positive, vibrant, wholly alive version of ourselves into the world - and who wouldn't want some of that? |