...And then, one day, I didn't care so much

Once upon a time, dear readers, I wrote about fashion. And made a decent living off of it. And then, when all of that stopped, I missed it for a minute. And then I didn't.

Now mind you, I haven't given up on it entirely. Heck, I still work part time at a boutique, do the women's buying, and check Go Fug Yourself as much as the next fashionista. But I don't have that same obsessive interest there as I did even five years ago, before I worked in retail full time and well before I ever considered myself to be a "fashion writer."


Somewhere along the way I let my subscription to Vogue lapse and no longer paid as much attention the latest It Bag. In fact, I find myself feeling almost hostile in some ways to much fashion writing these days. Was I really that vapid and self absorbed? Are clothes that important? Do we put designers on too high of a pedestal?

I'm being hyperbolic for effect, of course, but there's no doubt that I've lost my appetite for much of what the world of luxury fashion offers the average consumer. And I've lost all interest for going to a mall. I'd like to think that my tastes are refining, that I'm looking for the next big (or medium-sized) thing, people with an eye toward sustainable design, non-stratospheric price points, and a true passion for what they do. You can keep your YSL Tribute pumps, your Birkin bags, and your skinny jeans (please!). I'll keep doing my own thing.