The Dangerous Twist

Had unexciting day at college today. I have an acute fear that it's feeling more like high school with each passing class. Just more isolated. Calstate Long Beach is like the largest community college in the state of California. It feels as substandard, as exhaustive and lonesome. The traffic, the abnormal number of idiots on campus, all that stuff. Makes me sad. The few acquaintances I've made keep my day kind of bright, but I guess by the end of the day I find myself searching for excuses to leave.

I just feel alone, and when I'm with people I feel unable to connect with them. Ahhh fuck oh well. I had gyoza today. Yummy gyoza.

Am becoming unhealthily obsessed with American Apparel, that wondrous hipster empire with all the well-marketed clothing and stuff. I mean when you get down to it, they make excellent underwear and t-shirts, but everything else is ill-sewn and ill-made. The only good part is the models they use, and the fact that it's all sweatshop-free. But still. I'm as caught up as any liberal arts major with a taste for Arcade Fire and Interpol.

Am also loving how everytime I shop there I feel like a walrus. American Apparel realizes that hipsters come in different sizes and they try their best to accommodate them. Too bad real hipsters come in svelte, skinny, and stick-thin. I'm a large in everything.

It's like having tits and ass is now some kind of terrible burden. It's no longer beautiful, it's just... utilitarian. Like a camel's hump. Oh wonderful, you can feed babies. Oh, you can survive in the desert longer than I can. Like all a bra is good for now is for storing tissue and money and gumballs.

I think the idea is that women no longer look to fashion as a way to feel sensuous or to be inspired by ways to enhance and flaunt their bodies. In a world ruled by sterile European metropolises, fashion has become this cultureless, bodiless cycle of fads and "cultural nods" and constant spinoffs of the same shitty black leggings and tunics. It's a nod to the eighties, it's a nod to the 16th century, whatever.

Whatever happened to the woman's body? I'm not one to say I like a body all rolly-polly, but what happened to curves? I had a good friend who always criticized the way I drew women because all my girls had thighs and breasts and big butts. He thought they were too fat. "Women look like that," I urged. For centuries, they've looked like that. And I mean they've been corseted and padded and caged, but the woman, ungirdled, unclothed, set upon some chaise all naked and waxing like a full moon-- has always looked like the rolling landscape of heaven.

And if you're just Asian and super-thin and wear a 00 even if you eat eight happy meals a day, then fuckin' power to you, you magic wand, you shaft of silver yew. Power to ya.

But anyhow, starving models are an insult to starving babies all over the world. I'm just saying.

I miss Heroes.