#FitchTheHomeless

Do you know the controversial statement released by the A&F CEO? The one where he explained why they don’t cater to female customers that wear sizes 10 and above (technically, they don’t target to men of similar body types but have larger sizes because they’re targeting male athletes)? Look it up, if you have not.  So anway, the video above is my favourite response I’ve seen so far.

To be fair to A&F, they are allowed to market their brand whatever way they like. I, personally, am no way entitled to wearing their clothes.. heck, they shun people like me. But I will agree that they have the right to be selective of their target audience. In the same way the Greek system is selective. In the same way certain political groups are selective. One could even say that it’s the same way school cliques are selective. The only thing A&F have done is publicly state it.

I personally, don’t agree with Mike Jeffries; as a ‘victim’ of the fashion industry’s lack of choices for ‘larger people’ I wish I could wear nice clothes, the stuff that my smaller stature friends wear. It’s difficult when you go shopping and everyone else just grabs stuff off the rack, while you have to go search and walk out of stores because they don’t have anything that does fit you. Just when you think school bullying and gossip wasn’t bad enough, even non-living objects reject you. Or rather, society does.

But Jeffries has a valid point. If he wants his brand to be represented by beautiful, skinny people, he has a right to make it so. And there are a lot of consumers that would agree with him because they want to feel ‘selected’, the same way popular kids want to feel like the elite. No one can deny them their freedom of choice to exclude certain groups.

If that is what A&F is selling and you believe in their message, why not buy their clothes? But if you’re against his mission, don’t buy their products, simple as that.

I honestly wonder how many regulars to this store have changed their minds about shopping there because of this news. I doubt that it would impact their business that much, at least not in the international front. The only people Mike Jeffries has turned away are people who already don’t fit in their size range and perhaps, people who were aspiring to buy ‘that one skirt’ or ‘that one top’ from the store, once they lost the weight. I have a friend who recently went shopping at one of their outlets in Malaysia even after this news hit the mass media (yes, he is skinny, duh) because he subscribes to the belief that good clothes are for those who work for it (or in some cases, are blessed with the right genetic combination).

If I were ever to fit into a good pair of jeans there, would I buy it? No. After being on the outside for so long, I don’t think I would ever support a company that didn’t want me when I wasn’t a certain body type.

What about you?

keyboard smash

It’s been a month since I’ve last written here and I guess it’s mostly because I don’t know what to write anymore.

I was on the train the other day, coming back from a visit to the home my group was assigned to. It’s funny looking at people on the train at 3something pm on a Friday. Half of them are dozing off, some are simply staring out the window, a few chatting loudly while other, such as myself, people-watch.

I was a quiet observer for a forty minutes that Friday.

My friends 3 friends were asleep beside me. A guy and (i assume) his two siblings sat in front of me with another couple. The kids had fancier gadgets than I’ve ever owned and were listening to music. At one point, the younger boy started singing out loud only to get shushed by his older sister amidst the panicked looks she gave the other passengers in our compartment.

In the other car, I could see a guy in his late twenties or early thirties looking at the one I was in, only to turn away when he caught my eye. The boy and girl, perhaps a year younger than me, sitting beside him were talking very loudly about how secondary school life was different as compared to their current college one.

A man came aboard at one of the stops, looking around for a place to sit. I was tempted to point him to an empty seat to diagonally to my left but he turned and walked to the other end of the train. His loss.

I remember staring at the TV screens they have on these trains. Somehow they only played the dull advertisement with celebrities singing the 1Malaysia theme song, which was ironic because of last Sunday’s fallout. I noticed that a lot of the people on the train weren’t even locals; they were simple working-class folk who were here because they had families to feed or just wanted a better life. My paternal and maternal grandparents weren’t locals either, but here I am now.

Is this train ride an analogy for something? No, just an observation.

My mom doesn’t listen to radio when she drives to work. She turns it off once I step out of the car. She doesn’t enjoy the noise, she prefers the silence.

I asked her why. She says that it allows her to think, to be lost in her own thoughts.

I told her that when I drive, I must have the radio on. Having it turned off just sends my mind whirling. I scare myself with my paranoia. She just laughed at my reply.

But I’ve been thinking: Is it simply my paranoia or do I fear the thoughts that the silence brings me, like they do tonight?

I always turn on the radio. I listen to music when I read. I rarely let nothing ring in my ear, I always look out for background noise. When I listen to the quiet, my mind strays to things I hate to think about. I feel the rise of self-doubt and bitterness. I feel the fear of the future and the haunting of the past. I notice that my nails aren’t even or that my wrist twinges. Every flaw is magnified a thousand times in the quiet. Every regret is sent pulsing through my mind.

No, I like the noise because it drowns out the things that make me feel too much; that allows me to wake up to another day.

habits

You don’t know anyone at the party, so you don’t want to go. You don’t like cottage cheese, so you haven’t eaten it in years. This is your choice, of course, but don’t kid yourself: it’s also the flinch.

Your personality is not set in stone. You may think a morning coffee is the most enjoyable thing in the world, but it’s really just a habit. Thirty days without it, and you would be fine. You think you have a soul mate, but in fact you could have had any number of spouses. You would have evolved differently, but been just as happy.

You can change what you want about yourself at any time. You see yourself as someone who can’t write or play an instrument, who gives in to temptation or makes bad decisions, but that’s really not you. It’s not ingrained. It’s not your personality. Your personality is something else, something deeper than just preferences, and these details on the surface, you can change anytime you like.

If it is useful to do so, you must abandon your identity and start again. Sometimes, it’s the only way.

Set fire to your old self. It’s not needed here. It’s too busy shopping, gossiping about others, and watching days go by and asking why you haven’t gotten as far as you’d like. This old self will die and be forgotten by all but family, and replaced by someone who makes a difference.

Your new self is not like that. Your new self is the Great Chicago Fire—overwhelming, overpowering, and destroying everything that isn’t necessary.

Julien Smith

um.

I acknowledge the fact that this is going to come off really creepy but:

Have you ever wanted to watch a movie on someone’s life? No, I don’t mean STALKING them, I mean, watching a movie. Just stop and think about it. Have you ever met or read of someone who’s inspiring or has this attractive quality about them that you’d just like to know what their life must be like.

Clearly, nothing I say is going to make this sound any less creeper-ish. I know it sounds perverse or just weird, but there are people who are amazing to me that somehow, I find that they’re almost fictional. How do I explain this?

okay, you know how when you pick up a book or watch a show, it opens with a great character. Or at least A character that intrigues you. That’s the reason you keep watching or reading.. you want to see where this goes, you want to know how things turn out, you enjoy learning more about this person. That’s how I feel about some people in real life, people who aren’t my friends. I don’t mean celebrities that live high profile lives. They are just so many ‘normal’ people that you walk past every day or people who’s blogs you read that appeal so much to you that you just want to know what makes them tick.

Right. That came off creepy too.

But do you get what I’m saying? Perhaps I’m the only person in the universe who feels like this. i can’t express this properly.

Maybe that’s what making friends is suppose to be about: discovering this appealing character and learning more about them each day. But it’s different, you know?

or maybe you don’t. 

Do you remember the time when you were much younger and you would watch these TV shows about high school students or college students and think “one day, i’ll be that age, and be super cool. I’d have this hair and where these sorts of clothes. I’d speak like this and be so good at that.”

then one day, you wake up and realise that you have passed that age or are at that age, and you’re none of that.

Where do all these thoughts and ideas get to? Where does one place one’s self when the ideal version of yourself has disappeared into the void? Is it wrong to have certain moulds that we place ourselves in, only to realise the frivolity of your thoughts, only to see them crumble into dust? Or perhaps forget all about them until some random day in the future when you realise how far  you’ve strayed from the mind map you’ve set out for yourself?

I don’t like writing these kinds of posts. I wish I were a far happier person and write about the adventures I’m having in a great city and all these new friends etc etc but no. I’m not there, I’m here. And I’m dealing.

something unexpected

I know those words mean nothing to most of you, if not all of you, but receiving that in the mail from a penpal, the first I’ve had in many, many years meant the world to me.