AW MA GOD! You Look Totally Sophisticated!

Occasionally in the club scene there will be one girl who turns everyone's heads, a lady who divides the crowd. To many, she's a skanky biatch but to quite a few others she's a gorgeous sex kitten who's totally owning it. People who know me will know which argument I lean towards, but what does everyone else think? And is it the women or the men who are the biggest fans?

Girls have a lot of choice when it comes to evening wear, unlike guys who really just need a shirt + pants + not-runners= OK. Girls can go anywhere between all-out/falling out to... teeshirt and jeans and still get into most places no problem, assuming you're not hideous, a junkie or pregnant. Although this gives girls alot of freedom it also makes things all the more difficult to choose what to wear. What will everyone else be wearing? Will I fit in? Will I look too frumpy? Too over the top? Too weird? Of course, I am generalising here, there are a sizeable number of boys who go through the same thing. But it is mostly women, and it is mostly the women who are scrutinised by what they're wearing.

Most people will have wandered into a social gathering and felt out of place, and a large proportion of those people would have felt as though what they were wearing was responsible for that feeling. Like that time I wore a clown suit to a funeral and a wedding dress to my friend's wedding. Seriously though, who hasn't spent ages in hair and make-up only to find everyone is wearing their hole-riddled jeans and bed hair? The other way is even worse, when you're wearing op-shop chic and everyone else is designer head-to-toe (see: last post). However if I can transport us now to a fairly neutral situation, a standard club with quite a bit of fashion variation.... Is that girl with the neckline reduced to a belly-line hot or not?
If you said she was more skanky than sexy was it because you were jealous of her? Maybe you were threatened by her? Maybe you just didn't enjoy copping such an eyeful after one sip into your first drink, after all if you wanted to see that much skin you'd be at a strip club.

It's hard to tell what the intentions are of the woman who's wearing the controversial outfit, she obviously wants to look good, everyone does yet what kind of favourable attention is she looking for? Most people want to be liked, and the quickest way to do this is to look likeable, after all a club isn't the kind of place which favours good conversation over good looks. You need to look likeable under a strobe not on a discussion panel.

For me, I want to look sexy but I also don't want to alienate myself from other women. Some women are happy to alienate the competition and impress the boys but others don't even realise they're doing it at all. It all depends on the group you're with as well; in my circle of friends I would probably catch a few confused glances if I wore a micro mini and a plunging singlet, even some concerned words (eg: ummm....you're showing alot off tonight, etc.) However in other friendship circles, the skimpier the better. Almost everyone notices when a group of young women walk by on a Sat night, their mini's and sky-high heels all competing with each other for attention. "Babe, you look waaay hot!" (and you draw attention to our median hotness as a group, all the better)

I'm not immune from fleeting cases of "skanky fever" though, I've gone out wearing clothes specifically designed to make men look at me. In these cases, I go out, enjoy the make attention (after being dumped, hurt, annoyed by some other male) and then go home with my physical self esteem restored but my mental health conflicted. Nobody likes feeling really cheap and slutty, I guess thats where it all hits home for the girls opening the street press the following week and seeing themselves feeling up some other orange skinned, woman, their tongue in her mouth and their eyes droopy with drunkeness. "But I thought I looked awesome!"
Almost everyone has a what-was-I-wearing/doing? moment, don't be too harsh on the next belly-button dress girl you see. She might just be having hers.

Manic the V.I.P.

Most people will experience a V.I.P. moment at one time or another, whether it's the old "I'm with the band" line, or "I'm on the Free List", or somehow you've scored a backstage pass cos your mate is working at the Big Day Out. Everyone gets their 15 minutes of 5-star treatment by association, not including those people who are actually famous of course.

For me, V.I.P. is a relatively new experience. I'm not a shmoozer, I'm not a social butterfly and I'm not really, really, ridiculously, good looking either. I'm the shmo waiting in the line and complaining about the door price. So it comes as a shock to my unimportant little self that suddenly I'm V.I.P.ing. My boyfriend used to be a DJ back before we met, by the time we got together he had given up all his fame and fortune for a day-job. Hey I told you, I'm no shmoozer.

Recently however he has been doing some friends some favours and playing a few shows, and not just any shows...fashion shows. The most pretentious, intimidating kinds of gigs you could do. As a woman, even more so. The air is so thick with bitchiness you could cut through it with your $3000 stilettos. I personally think high heel wearing is akin to foot binding, so I don't go there. But I guess most fashion is all slutty torture really anyway, but I'm rambling.

I normally would never bother going to a fashion show that requires any kind of exchange of money, after all I'm surfing the poverty line until I'm fully university educated. Cowabunga.
So you can guess how this story will go; classic fish out of water situation. Normal girl's boyfriend suddenly mixes with the in-crowd and normal girl gets dragged a long without much warning. Oops, I didn't have time to wax my eyebrows and spray tan myself to within an inch of my Caucasian...ness.

So I showed up last night to a gig at an expensive Port Melbourne venue, with plush red wall-paper and a bathroom decked out with gold swans as bathroom spouts. I nervously walked past the queue and told the bouncer I was on the list, secretly not really believing I was. After I found my way down the long staircase, I was faced with a crowded room of people all head to toe in designer wear and all, well, Asian. When you just want to slink in quietly and hope nobody notices your crappy outfit it doesn't help being the only whitey, a size 12 and a blond. Among the swarm of sleek, beautiful shiny-haired petite girls I felt both fat and poor. My entire outfit equated to the average ladies' left shoe.

After standing awkwardly got boring I slunk over to the bar and ordered an orange juice, the man handed me the usual cup of ice, tinted with juice and I stood there blankly, my wallet in hand. He didn't say anything. Was this the sort of place where you're just supposed to know the prices? Or even worse the kind of place where you pay what you feel? No that doesn't make sense, and he'd walked away by now. I thought I'd stand there a bit longer, really casual, just in case he did come back and scream "$100!" in my face or something. After a few more long seconds I backed away slowly, clutching my drink close. Haha! Free drink! Of course, it wasn't until a few more seconds later that I realised there was a tab. There was food going around too, fruit and cheese on silver platters, but I was too edgy to eat. The fashion show itself was very entertaining, especially seeing my boyfriend in clothes he could never afford. I even got to hang out backstage and sip champagne. "Let's get another 4 bottles over here!" yelled the designer with a wave of his long, suited arm. It smelled like a moshpit back there, and bones were protruding from bronzed bodies everywhere. Ahh the V.I.P life sure was something, but it was nice to get home to my Ikea pillows and Weetbix.