We had a party at our house last night. The defining feature of our parties is the costume crate. The crate operates incognito as a side table most the time, but for parties, we push back the sofa, pull the crate into the middle of the living room, put on its vintage polyester coordinate sets, purple wigs, spandex dance leotards, Hot Topic poet shirts, and tericloth kaftans, and then dance to Beyoncé till the break of dawn.
Behind me in this picture is the aftermath of the party. There are no costumes in the crate; they are all on the floor.
The outfit I have on was my before-&-after-costumes outfit. Part of being a good hostess, of course, means gagueing the exact moment when the costumes should happen. It can't be forced, it must be allowed to flow, and until it does, I can't just stand around in my underwear; I had to wear something, so this was it.
My aunt bought this dress for me in Palm Springs from the thrift shop where she volunteers. As you can see, it's unstructured and asymmetrical, and she was skeptical, but I think it works. The cuff bracelet is from a clothing swap. The shoes - notice, if you will, the cantilever heel -were bought new, though I've had them for years and had to glue them back together recently, so at this point they might count as refurbished.
I shot this just after six in the morning, right before sunrise, while listening to Super Tramp. I was the last one standing at the party, everyone else had left or was asleep. And though I'm in bed now, the sun is up, albeit behind fog, so I'm having my seventeenth wind and can't sleep. Good morning.