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Firework, Judy Garland, Elvis Presley & Sherlock... what more do you need on new years eve?

I don't know why, but when a new year is coming around we (meaning anyone who's sentimental... which shockingly is a higher amount of people than expected) look back at what's happened these past 365 days. Well, the highlights of those 365 days. As Elvis Presley ones sang, "we're going up, we're going down, we're going up, down, down, up, anyway you wanna let it role, yeah, yeah, yeah". This all together made me think about time and changes and whatnot. It's funny to see how we, or I, can be moved by something that's established to happen. And that it (meaning a new year) has been happening for a long time and still can make us think about it differently.

I genuinely believe that time isn't something that passes from moment to moment. So many things happen at the same time. They may differ in duration, but at a certain point a million things will overlap eachother. Time can go fast and slow. The clock might tick the same ticks as before, doing its routine, but it isn't always the same. Something good goes by as snow for the sun, while something bad can last forever.

Before you know it, everything has changed. I don't like change. When everything stays the same there's this illusion of a safe and secure factor. Change often comes across as something negative. The feeling of losing control comes over me. I just want to build upon what's already there. And I know that this building is contrary to staying the same. I guess that most rigorous changes develop over time without anyone actually noticing it (well, until you look back and observe all the things that are different now (well, big changes sometimes happen in a second. Although when you look back at it, it's often retrievable to the things that happened before that crucial moment)).

At school I've learned how to preserve objects. The first thing the teacher told us was that you can't preserve everything. And you certainly can't preserve something forever. Time goes by, stuff gets used, broken or just old. This is sort of a good thing. A shame, indeed, but it gives room for new things that are now or soon to be seen as important. So you could almost say that time is a relief. Although, the thought of us humans preceeding forth and better from the past can be preceived as a lie. Like Chris Kraus wrote in her book I Love Dick: "(...) the hope that all of us are travelling through concentric rings of knowledge towards some greater truth. And beneath that hope, the biggest lie: that things are getting better". Not everything that's gone and forgotten should or ought to be in that state. Passing time and the idea of things getting better, going forward, is a relative factor to actuality.

It's difficult to put time into words. Time goes by. It doesn't really matter if you like it or not. Sometimes you feel like it's a human process. A concept that flows to our meanings, but more often to work against us. There's this longing or desire within me that's hoping for a visual circle. And in someway we've already been there and done that. You've just need to look at the fashion industry and you understand the concept of recycling. And that too gives me the desire to move on and yet I want to relive the good ol' times (yes, I'm somewhat of a whiny hypocrite).

And at the end I just want to conclude with the goodbye monologue of the 11th Doctor. Because it basically depicts my heartache for time and gives an insight into how we, I think, ought to preseve the concept of moving on:

"We all change. When you think about it. We're all different people all through our lives. And that's okay, that's good. You've got to keep on moving. So long as you remember all the people that you used to be".

May ya'll live long and prosper. Happy new year! 

Love,
Dominique
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50 years of Doctor Who. Well, 50 years and one month. But for the sake of this post we'll look over that fact. Although it actually enhances the brilliancy of the show that it still goes on after a milestone of 50 years... and a month. For the socalled dummies reading this, lets begin with the basics.

Doctor Who first aired on the 23rd of November 1963. Since then it has aspired to be the longest running Science Fiction show on television in the world ever. This year, as you've might gathered, is the 50th anniversary which aired on the same date only 50 years later (and oh boy was it a good one!).

The Doctor and companion Clara on the moon.

It's wrong or even a crime to say that doctor who is just another British television series. And most Whovians (pet name for dedicated Doctor Who-fans) would claim that Doctor Who is everything. But of one thing we can be sure, since the excistens of the show they've left an distinct footprint on the world and Galaxy's beyond. Like Neil Armstrong once said when he left behind his footstep on the moon: "One small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind." So may Doctor Who's lifetime be proclaimed. Ever since the first airing there've been many souls glued to their television screens. How they've kept this up for 50 years? We're hopefully going to find out when we pin point through the shows history.

Doctor What
What's the show about? Well to quote David Tennant who played the 10th Doctor:

“The thing about Doctor Who is the fact that its very hard to explain and not sound like a lunatic”. 

So brace yourself and just go with the flow. 

Well...

Basically it's about an alien, a Time Lord from Gallifrey. Time Lords receive their name for their non-linear perception of time, which allows them to see everything that was, is, or could be at the same time.

The Doctor is the main character through the show. Thanks to a time travel machine called the T.A.R.D.I.S. (Time And Relative Dimensions In Space) he can travel through time, space and matter.  

T.A.R.D.I.S. flying through space. Yay.

Together with a companion, often a good looking young girl, he explores our surroundings. When doing that he mostly stumbles on adventures. These adventures of course implying saving the whole universe from disasters.

Doctor How 
This all sounds rosy, but how can a serie run for so long? The answer is diversity and creativity.

William Hartnell played the very first Doctor. After three years he retired from his roll (or as rumours go: the producers replaced him for a younger specimen). Both theories aside, there's a problem and there's a need for a solution. So cleverly they came up with a plan, whereby the show could be running forever. Regeneration. The Doctor could “regenerate” a tired, injured or near dead body, taking on a new persona along the way (also known as re-casting the lead role). Hereby giving each Doctor their own marks, quirks and character. So, an alien who can be and do anything with a machine that can go anywhere, gives the creators (as I may say) a lot of space.
Besides that, Doctor Who isn't bound on a specific genre or story. The first episode can be full of slap-stick, while the second can be a full on thriller. Even in the same episode it twists around. Basically the ultimate formula of forever and ever and ever and ever... right? 

The question of a lifetime. That and Doctor who?

Doctor When
Sometimes forever and ever can't last forever. Or atleast not forever on end. As said earlier, the first episode of Doctor Who aired on the 23rd of November 1963. Since then Doctor Who has been broadcasted to our television screens, but not always following eachother up. There's the so-called Classic Who and New Who.

To quote:
“People assume that time is a strict progression of cause to affect, but actually, from a non-linier, non subjective point of view, it is more like a big ball of wibbily wobbly timey wimey... stuff”.

Classic Who runs from 1963 to 1989 with an extensial in 1996.

In February 1985 the BBC announced the show would be temporarily rested in affect of falling viewing figures.
Almost a year later in September 1986 it returned back on the telly. Unfortunately with only 14 episodes a year and with no reassurance to remain there. In 1989, after 26 seasons, the Seventh Doctor and current companion Ace walked off into the sunset. Bye, bye Doctor.

After some shed tears, independant companies tried to buy the concept from the BBC, with no succes.

Believe it or not, but these dark times gave new live to that what's been thought lost. The idea of Doctor who lives beyond the show among the fans. The fans now can freely outplay their own take on the concept.

It takes some time, but in 1996 the Doctor was back. Not as a new serie, though. The BBC co-produced a ninety-minute television film. Targetting not only the British market, but also the American. The Britsh loved it, with a satisfying nine million views. The Americans on the other hand weren't as enthusiastic.

It went quiet around the Doctor. The show's savely wrapped away, out of sight, waiting for someone to look at it with a new insight. With a new appreciation and even with a new value assignment. The 40th anniversary, celebrated by a two-part special with the remaining Doctors, went by. The show's been exproppriated from its primitive situation. Ideas began to form. Old fans from then, new producers/screenwriters/actors from now. And so it happened. A new erea of Doctor Who begun on the 26th of March 2005. Popular than ever (even in America). 

He doesn't only travel through time and space, he's also a great cook.

The thing about Doctor Who is that they aren't fixed on the present and what's now being made, they also honour the past, but without fear for the future.

Doctor Who
The art of a good story.

Between now and then, there's been 11 Doctors and that number will soon go up. Not trying to make it complicated, but these 11 Doctors have been played by 12 actors (just accept the fact).
Each and everyone of them have been molding their Doctor in an unique person. Every Doctor has his own trademarks. May it be a questionmark, a long coloured scarf, all-stars sneakers combined with a suit or a bowtie (with a few second appearence of a fez).

Doctor Who, as popular as it is, has a wide range of A-list actors who are desperate to play a role in the series. However this hasn't made them vain. Doctor Who is somewhat of a platform for unknown actors. A good example is our current and soon to be regenerated Doctor played by Matt Smith. Before, the name said nothing. Now it will be shouted at him everywhere he goes. 

Who knew...

Not only has Doctor Who been good in introducing new Doctors, it's also responsible for the scary nightmares after viewing one of their episodes. Monsters or aliens play a main role in the life of the Doctor and his companions. Although the most famous of the bunch must be the Dalek (who in his own right celebrated their 50th anniversary last Saturday -21 December 2013)

A deadsworn enemy to the Doctor that looks like a roling tin and ragingly screech “EXTERMINATE!”, sounds not that scary. But let this outer layer not deceive you. These aliens are only looking for war. And extermination. But that's quite obvious. So everyone who isn't a Dalek has to look out for their own sanity.

Besides the Daleks, you've got for instance the Cybermen, the Weeping Angels and all other scary things you can think of.

To conclude with the words of Steven Spielberg:
“The world would be a poorer place without Doctor Who”.

Love,
Dominique


Trivia
- The BBC thought that the programme was proving so expensive to make that it might not be able to go beyond four episodes. Donald Baverstock wrote in 1963: "Such a costly serial is not one that I can afford".
- The ethereal theme tune was the first in the world to be made up entirely from electronic sounds.
- The sound of the Tardis is made in 1963 by scraping a key along a string of a piano. This sound has never been changed since then.
- The BBC owns the copyright to the design of the Police Box as used as the design for the Tardis. It was bought from the Metropolitan Police.
- The word “Dalek” became so familiar to British audiences that it was added to the Oxford English Dictionary.
- There are an everage 100 effects per episode.
- Tom Baker (the 4th Doctor) appeared in 173 episodes of the series, more than any other actor.
- The 4th Doctor’s costume was inspired by a painting of French artist Tolouse Lautrec. The now legendary scarf was a happy accident - the result of a freelance knitter not realising she didn’t have to use all the wool she had been given. 
- The 10th Doctor's suit is blue when they go forward in time and brown if they go back in time.
- The 11th Doctor's bowtie is red if the episode takes place in the future, and blue if it's in the past.
- In 2010, after introducing the 11th Doctor (a keen bowtie-wearer), there was a 94% increase in the sale of bowties.
- There's a music genre called Trock (Timelord Rock). This has been created by a group of Britsh Youtubers who formed a band called “Chameleon Circuit”.

Smexy...

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"What I like about photographs is that they capture a moment that’s gone forever, impossible to reproduce."
Karl Lagerfeld

The Dutch word of 2013 is "selfie". There are two reasons why people weren't that happy about this.
1) Selfie isn't a Dutch word.
2) A lot of people find selfie an ugly or even an unattainable word.

In case you didn't know...

Regarding the first point, I'm totally down with that. I think the purpose of making this sort of competitions between words that are fluently used within a certain amount of time within a particulair country ought to be based upon that. Especially when you call it "The Dutch word of the year". I mean, if you're going to include for instance English words, than you should call it "The international word of the year frequently used within the boundaries of the Netherlands". It doesn't sound as catchy, but it is the truth!

Second point, I'm totally not down with that. Yes, the elderly mostly don't understand the meaning of the word. They apparently can't comprehand that a selfie is synonymous to a selfportrait. Selfies aren't a new phenomenon, as a smart reporter reported. It didn't just came into our excistense right after the invention of the smart phone. No, ever since we humans have walked the earth, we've tried to depict ourselves. Think for instance about the cave paintings made during the prehistory. I mean, in someway that's just a selfie with some animals on the background (you could also see it as one of the first distinctions in scenery paintings, but I say it's obviously a selfie).

Vincent van Gogh: the king of selfies, Alexa Chung: the king of keeping it cool and Anastacia: the king of mystery.

The reporter who reported the news claimed that Vincent van Gogh is the king of making the ultimate selfie. A picture that stands through times and meaning, with an expression bound to that moment (often with a bit of a touch up here and there). That's why, he concluded, that selfies are very popular among celebrities. Celebrities are most aware of the impact of a picture and can somewhat control their image by what they share of themselves with the rest of the world. I guess this goes up for everyone of us.

I've always been fascinated about pictures and how they can preserve a certain atmosphere. Or how they can play with the idea of something. Hereby I mean with pictures also paintings, which are basically the pictures before the invention of the camera. A picture can tell everything, but a picture can also tell nothing. A picture can drown in its own image or exclude all the pictures that were taken before that particular picture. It can mark of a period and it can support the future. A picture is, as Karl Lagerfeld stated, a (created) moment that after you've captured it will be gone forever. Rookie had this post about pictures that were never taken. They've tried to recreate that picture that never excisted, but you feel like it ought've been there. "Rescuing moments from the tides of time" is a beautiful way to make a statement out of this. The idea that a memory can last forever (or atleast for a longer period of time, beyond your excistens) is getting fulfilled through the medium of a picture.

I'm not a big fan of taking pictures of myself. Although I must admit, ever since I've got a smart phone there's this great urge to make selfies. It's a sort of ritual of trying to make a picture that's pleasing to yourself. And I guess a selfie tells a lot about the one who's made it. For that matter of fact every picture, whatever it's image, says something about the photographer. Though I'm not yet sure what...

Love,
Dominique
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Today is the birthday of my grandmother. It's the first birthday since her birthday that she's not here to celebrate it with us. Although I'm very tempted to crash down and start crying for the rest of the day (or for the rest of my life), I figured that we ought to be celebrating instead of mourning. We should celebrate that what was instead of longing to that what isn't. Although this sounds quite wise (even if I say so myself) it's very hard or even difficult to just do it. To not think about the great lost we've suffered. But I know that something will last if we'll keep her memories and apply it to the now or future. So, without further ado, I want to tell you a little story.

Once upon a time there was the fifties. The fifties was a time of reconstruction and international conflicts. These conflicts withstood the heat by fear, but the new generation rebelled against the established society. The youth wanted to make their own values, to dictate their own lifestyle. This new society, based upon the heritage of the first and second world wars, was grieved in the minds of the elderly and a hunting world for the clueless youth. They tried to make a way for the free-caring, open minded and groovy dressed.

Apparently you can buy this picture... so if you're interested.

Americanization, being a commonly used term in western Europe, is often associated with this time period. Americanization is inextricably linked with jeans, leather jacket, quiff and motor scooter. Artists became icons (think again American like Marilyn Monroe, James Dean, Elvis Presley and Humphrey Bogart -the last one being a bit Dutch-). There was also room for Ballroom dancing and of course the virtuous charming (yet with slightly less exciting hips than Elvis) sir Cliff Richard.

Petrus -an employee of car manufacturer Ford- and Marie -housewife- became on the 19th of December 1936 the proud parents of Maria. Maria was their first daughter of four (Corrie, Joke and Rinie). Slowly the love disappeared between the two and they got a divorce. Very unusual for that time. Because of their divorce Maria, as the oldest, was put in charge for the care of her younger siblings.

After her mother had found love again in Henk, the new found family moved houses within Amsterdam. They lived in poverty with not much of latitude.

At primary school Maria outshone in handiwork, but never got the full credit from her teacher. At the age of six she already teached grown ups how to knit. A trade she would always retain.

Apparently you can also buy this magazine... do I sound like a saleswoman?

Maria's been a keen smoker and hard worker from the age of 12. On her resume includes folding patterns for a magazine called Margriet and officework for L'oréal. Her workweek (back then existing of six days) started at seven o'clock in the morning. She walked from the Olympic stadium to Central Station. This brisk walk of about an hour was followed by a long train journey. So it took some time and effort before she arrived at her destination.

Wake up, eat, walk, train journey, work, train journey, walk, eat and sleep. Day in day out, six days long the same routine over and over again. But then Saturday evening arrives and it was time for hobbies and frivolities. As a talented handiworker Maria was a member of a socalled knitting club. But that wasn't her only passion. From the tango to the quick step, her feet came off the floor. She possessed somewhat of a Latin Ballroom repertoire. 


Here you can see on the left my grandpa and on the right my grandma. This picture has been taken on their wedding day. Don't they look smashing!

During the tango she meets Johan Coenraad. Love is in the air and two years later he asks her to marry him. And so it happens in 1957. After their marriage the couple stays at home with Johan Coenraad sr. and his wife Lucia. So, nice and cozy with her inlaws.

But before all this beautifull stuff happened, the two went on holiday together (which was received as scandalous).  They converted Johan's truck into a camper and went for two weeks to France. They stationed themselves besides the roads of France so they wouldn't had to pay anyone for a place to stay. This socalled roadside tourism is now adays illegal, but at that time quite common.

It's the end of the fifties. Maria is happily married and would soon become mother of her first daughter Paula, followed by a son and another daughter (my mum).

The end. Or better said, the beginning of something new...

Happy birthday Grandma!

Love,
Dominique
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It's the last month of the year, so you know what that means... you don't? Well, under what rock have you been living the past centuries?!?

Winter is coming... so time to snuggle up with whatever makes you warm. I personally prefer to snuggle with Jack. He's like a heating source on four paws. The ultimate warm keeper! But if disaster has struck and there's no Jack nearby, you could always try my second favourite warmkeeping method: crocheted blankets.

I've got a sort of crocheted blanket fetish. For me there's almost nothing as sexy as a heap of wool. Especially when they are hand made. Buying crocheted blankets is a no-go for me. Fabricated pieces often lack soul and have a price tag of a "I'm sorry, h-h-how much?!?" category.

 
My grandma is responsible for my best pieces. She was the ultimate crocheter and loved it when I gave her an assignment. I'm somewhat the personifacation of sentiment and try to relive the life of my mum/grandma. Oh, even hearing the stories of what they wore makes me want to travel back in time! So, making a point, I always asked for a replica of something she had when she was younger (hereby trying to avoid the word "retro").  


My mum is also an amazing crocheter and guideline concerning trying out different patterns. The thing with my mum is that you can devide her work into phases. For example the "knitting scarves"-phase, the "crochetting blankets"-phase and lately she's in the "crochetting stoles"-phase. This means that within a certain period of time there will be a lot, like a lot a lot, of the same sort of things coming from her hands. "The same" being the wrong kind of word, because the same it ain't!

Me myself am not that adventurous regarding my crochetting habit. Mainly I guess because the day isn't long enough. I'm quite busy at the moment and want to do everything in little time... a problem, I heard, that's very relatable. Yay.

At the moment it's very "hip" to own/make/cherish old school looking blankets. And since the economy is still looking quite leap, I've got the ultimate combination! This is a thing I've picked up from my grandma and is in someway a very obvious thing to do. I think a lot of people are already doing it, but for some this might be an Eureka! moment. 


Worst case scenario: You could always just put the heating on.

Love,
Dominique

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There's this boy at school who's always dressed like he just walked out of a 1930's American Gangster film. Always neat and tight in a suit. He even has got a nice big coat with a black fur collar. He's just a very good dresser. A few days ago he wore a top hat with matching walking cane (which had a sliver lion on top of it). Amazing! His hair is only a bit too short and too combed backwards for my taste of liking. It enhances the 1930's American Gangster feel, but I prefer boys with hair you can play with.

On this picture you can ironically see FBI agents demonstrating my depiction of "1930's American Gangster"-style...

He's just nailed the look. So you can understand my disapointment and somewhat dispair when he came around wearing a full purple Adidas sportswear gear during our preliminary examinations. I mean, that's just bad luck walking through the door...

I'm writing about this boy, not because I've got a picture of him you can look at (never even talked to him... would be strange to ask for a picture then, wouldn't it?!). I'm writing about this boy, because he can stir the thoughts of people. You've got lovers and haters. I think it's very fascinating when the way you dress can provoke such a variety of emotions.

I'm obviously a lover, but there are a lot of people between the scale of love-hate (and make that opinion very clear when he walks by). A few weeks ago I'd made a similar scale regarding music. Realizing, when making this scale of music, that the ultimate form to love (Stalkers) is equal to the ultimate form of hate (Love to hate). Hereby being the overall feeling of being better because you truely love/hate something. As my teacher said: "There's nothing as bonding as true hate", or love for that matter. By the way, the teacher said this regarding the Spanish Inquisition... so you know it's a form that has been practiced for many years. 

The Mostly Incomplete Scale of Love-Hate... If you can think of something that's missing, don't hesitate to comment.

Everyone has an opinion about something that's underpinned by emotion. It's almost art when you can turn those feelings into a good opinion. Good obviously being a subjective concept. Is something good when we both agree upon it? Or when it's my (or in your case your) opinion? Because it's mine and on the scale of 1-10 of opinions that I care about, mine is (or ought to be) the most important one.

I once had a friend who told me that she liked the music of Justin Bieber. When telling me this rather normal opinion, she explicity asked me to tell no one about it. Because her other friends thought he was stupid and they wouldn't hang out with her anymore if she was (openly) a Justin Bieber fan. Me, not being a Justin Bieber fan, was quite shocked about this. First thing that ran through my mind was naturally: Well if they won't hang out with you because you're a fan of something they don't like, they aren't really being good friends, are they? The second thing I thought about was how something can include or exclude you at the same time. In her case: Include - Justin Bieber fanbase/Exclude - Friends. You're sort of forced to make compensations. Again in her case being silence about her being a Justin Bieber fan.

When I was younger I was a total full on Tokio Hotel fan. To express my fan-feelings, my dad covered the side thingy before the wheels to protect your clothes from splatter of my bike (technical term) with the Tokio Hotel logo (oh yes, we had a logo). On the other side he wrote Tokio Hotel. I felt über cool and fan like, but when I came back to school they didn't liked it as much as I did. I've always been bullied about my appearance (High school uniform: black skinny jeans, Tokio Hotel tshirt, big boots, red lipstick and hair before my eyes), but now this bike was apparantly the last drop of my "rebellious" behaviour. My bike became an extansion of me and had to withstand some sort of distruction ritual. My bike had to deal with a lot. But when they began spitting on it, I was downright furious. I mean, it's such a deeming and very gross thing to do. Being excluded by this group of people, I tried to interact with them in the only way I thought was possible: I wrote to a popular teenmagazine that everybody read and complained about the spitting. I wrote a sort of plea about how we all ought to live with eachother and like whatever we want. My dad had put some hard work into creating the ultimate bike for me. I won't spit on your bike if you're fan of something I don't like, it's a disturbing thing to do!  And then, after all my words of love and frustration I wrote: P.s. could you print a picture of Tokio Hotel beside this... very smooth. And then, after it got published (it got published, yay) the spitting stopped. May this be due to the medium of a teenmagazine or the growth of some braincells, no one will know.

So now my bike was included and I was still excluded... but that was fine, I guess.

Love,
Dominique
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The following needs to be read out in an Arnold Schwarzenegger voice:

I'll be back. ;)

Love,
Dominique
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Shirt+Trousers: H&M/ Shoes: Primark/ Necklace: Walibi

Teacher: You're a zebra. You're a leopard. I'm confused.

Love,
Dominique
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Trousers+Shoes+Shirt: H&M/ Jacket: Thrift Store/ Scarf: Miss Etam/ Necklaces: Hardware Store

"You either love them or hate them", the saleswoman said to me when I (in the sense of my mom) was paying for these trousers. "One customer walks away with them as if they've found the love of their life. Others look at them as if they've just gone mad".

Checkered trousers, for me, got this massive association with punk (the good kind of punk). Although I must admit, I'm as far as you're gonna get from punk. Though, I've got a button which says "Punk grrrrl Rock" in pretty pink. That's a message from the heart.

About "message from the heart", I gave my sister a little listen to Broken by Jake Bugg (I somehow am in the mood for melo-dramatic soft tender music, must be the weather changing). And after our sit through all she said was, "He's got quite a funny voice". Which 1) is true. I really need to be in a sort of mood to listen to his music (which makes "special"). And 2) Wasn't really the deep emotional message behind the song/videoclip... or it was and I'm just like those amature art historians who sees behind every depicted thing a deep meaning/symbol. While in fact it's just an orange.

Love,
Dominique
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Dress: Moonlight/ Leather Jacket: Only/ Shoes: H&M/ Tights: Wibra/ Ribbon in my hair: Wrapping from a gift

The Day of the Deaf is an annual event given on the 4th Saturday of September. The Dutch event was this year given at my sister's school with the theme: Visual Enrichment. Deaf artists were given a spotlight to show their work. This varied from paintings to woodworking. As said, the artists were all deaf, so communication between us didn't went so smooth.

While walking around I noticed that the chance of interrupting a conversation was ten times higher than usual. Everyone was talking in hand gestures and apparently that takes a lot of space. 
I'm a total hand gesture rookie (I can spell my dogs name and I know the sign for sea turtle... like that's something that will come up in every conversation).


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 It was very clear that it was the Day of the Deaf and for once the hearing (us) felt a bit lost/confused/ not being accounted with, but I just think that many deaf people feel like this in "my" world (hereby not meaning that the world is mine... though domination is coming closer every day).


Besides that all, there was a clown. I don't like clowns. This clown saw me and thought "I'm going to make her laugh... or scare her so bad that she'll have a trauma for ever and ever and ever". He did the last one. I just really don't like clowns. 

Years ago (when I was about 16 years old) I had a Drama exam (Spoilers: I passed) and we had to make our own production. So I'd written a detective, set in a circus called "Grand Opening". The ringmaster welcomes us all into his circus and than tragically dies on stage (Grand Opening indeed). From there on, an all knowing manic Columbo-esque detective comes to the scene and interviews all the weird and wonderful people you can think of hanging around a circus. One of those creatures was a clown. A creepy clown who hates kids and basically dislikes everything and everyone that has ever excisted in our universe... played by me. My mum even made me a clown suit (that I still own) and my face was totally whited. The contours of my face were highlighted with black and my lips were coloured blood red. After a long and thorough research, we got a confession of the killer of the ringmaster (Spoilers: It was the accountant).

Love,
Dominique
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All my life I've been fascinated by dolls. On one hand they creep me out and on the other I often wish to be one myself (a full functioning, very intelligent doll... although, compared to all the other dolls, it's already impressive if I could stand right up on my own two feet).

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When I was about twelve I was totally obsessed with the Lolita style, which led me to other (Japanese) subcultures. One of my favourite books I've got at that time is "Gothic & Lolita" by Masayuki Yoshinaga and Katsuhiko Ishikawa. A real page turner, I must tell. When I feel uninspired, I just open this book and drool over everything I'll never be... then I try to adapt the perfectness of all the people photographed and come up with something that will do.


Dress: Superstar/ Legging: H&M/ Necklace: Forgot the name of the store... sorry/ Shoes: Outlet Store

Love,
Dominique

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Kimono: Made by my mum/ Leather Jacket: Only/ Tights: Wibra/ Shoes: Van Haren

Love,
Dominique
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Skirt+Vest: H&M/ Shirt: Gift from my aunt/ Tights: Wibra/ Shoes: Primark

Yesterday, like almost every day, I was on the train. I sat next to my friend (a.k.a. "Train Buddy"), minding our own business. Complaining about things. The normal stuff. A guy gets in and sets himself infront of us, putting his bag under the chair. Train Buddy and I resume to our very intelligent conversation, until we get to the next stop. The guy steps out. Leaving his bag in the train.
A reconstruction:

Train Buddy: He's left his bag under the chair.
*Silence*
Me: Yeah.
*Silence*
Train Buddy: Should we... you know... say something or...
*Silence*
Me: Yeah, probably.
*Looking at eachother in despair*

So I grabbed the bag and went to the door (the entrance/exit... that's a door right?). Then it daunts me: What if the train leaves without me because I'm returning the bag of some strange guy who ought to keep sight on his own stuff? I mean who forgets his stuff (which equals to life essentially) on the train?!? Surprisingly loads of people. It's ridiculous, like I've worked three days at a supermarket and two people had forgotten their debit card. IT'S YOUR DEBIT CARD! That's like very important.
I always guard my stuff with great suspicion towards my surroundings because, as stated before, it equals my life (not intending to sound like a materialist, but it does).
So, when all this goes through my mind, I come up with a radical solution. I'll just shout.

Me: SIR!!!!
*Everyone turns around*
Me: YOU'VE FORGOTTEN YOUR BAG!!!

Now the guy turns around, looks at me and sees his bag. "Thank you", he says. I, still standing frozen in the train, am not moving. Then he realizes that he's supposed to collect his stuff, because no freakin' way I'm stepping out of this train. Worst case scenario: I'll throw it to him. But there was no need to. He excepted his fate and did the walk of shame.

After all this drama, I sat back next to my Train Buddy. She looks at me and says: "I'm a bad person, because I wasn't that sure if I would've return it to him".  "Neither was I", I said.  But what goes around, comes around. So I'm expecting some good vibes within these coming days.

Love,
Dominique
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Blouse+Skirt+Hat+Fur Scarf: H&M/ Jacket: My Basic/ Shoes: Van Haren/ Sunglasses: Thrifted

Love,
Dominique


Sources: Picture 1/ Picture 2/ Picture 3/ Picture 4/ Picture 5/ Picture 6/ Picture 7
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Jumper: Dappermarkt/ Skirt: Bynamesakke/ Socks: Wibra/ Shoes: Gift from my aunt/ Scarf: Miss Etam

Love,
Dominique
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Dress: Thrift Store/ Stole: Made by my mum/ Tights: Wibra/ Shoes: H&M/ Necklace: Brocante Shop

When Ilse awoke that morning, it seemed to be a boring day. But when she got on the bus, as she did every day, she noticed something strange. Tony, the bus driver, turned out to be a dog. Ilse, shocked by this image, wished him a good morning (as she did every day) and hurried to a seat. Tony barked happily at the sight of her and made preperations to leave.

At the next stop Ilse got off the bus. "I've probably eaten something bad this morning," she said encouragingly to herself.

Not far from the bus stop stands the building where Ilse works. The doorman, whose name she's forgotten but doesn't dare to ask, looked at her impatiently as he held the door open for her. When she looked at the doorman and he looked back, Ilse saw a lovebird. So she speeds up her pace and walk sideways passed him.

Miriam the receptionist and good friend of Ilse, looks at her questioningly. "What a day!," Ilse said sighing. "Good morning too," Miriam said, "What's wrong?". "Everyone seems to have changed into animals!". " Uhm, Ilse, we are animals. We've been animals all our lives.". Ilse looked again closely at her friend. Two cat eyes stared back at her. In disbelief she takes a step backwards. She hesitates, but then firmly runs away . Miriam meows something after her.

Ilse, who's getting madder by the minute, goes into an office and locks the door. It does'nt matter where she looks, the animals are everywhere. She tries to think of an escape plan. She walks to the window and sees herself in the reflection. She squeezes her eyes and to her horror, a rabbit is looking back.

Dum dum duuumm

The End.


Love,
Dominique 
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About Me

All dressed up with no place to go! Fashioned by Pluche is a personal lifestyle blog written by Dominique, a 20-something thinking enthusiast, amateur philosopher and rambler. As a creature of comfort/concern she lives her life mostly under a duvet contemplating life, occasionally blogging about the experience...

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