in nyc last sunday i went to visit the "american woman: fashioning a national identity" exhibition at the met museum.

it was breathtaking. as i slid into the first room, which gave us the most perfect, ornate, insane late 19th century drawing-room gowns, i felt that stab in my stomach which means that i am having BIG FEELINGS. these frocks, once worn by monied women and now suspended in time with beautifully styled wigs atop.

the gibson girls room was my second favorite, with all that heavy wool, goth-psycho high drama femininity. my notes from my journal after viewing all these antiqued clothings use the words goth, heavy, insane, psycho, dramatic, over and over again. my body felt like it was being taken over by the forces of the women who once wore these clothes, and so, the clothes themselves. i felt like i'd been taken.

there were lumps in my throat and something in my body- my heart or slick, juicy veins- called out to these clothes. i want to know their stories, and who had worn them, and in what contexts. in which outfits did those women receive great and somber news, and how did their outfits make them feel. were they comforted, or did they seek out more comfort from a different outfit.

in response to the quietly hysterical, constrictive and heavy clothes my own body felt a kind of hysteria, the same kind, i imagine, that teenage girls feel when they see their teen idols who they do not know yet are fags. i see these clothes and they feel like history, an entire personal story, is available in the folds of cloth. but we are not allowed to touch.

in the hollywood gown room clips of rita hayworth and jean harlow showed us how they used their clothes to tell part of their story.

it was still not enough. i still ached to know, to know, to know, to create or know these stories sprung from the dusty old frocks. the vintage and antique clothing i own and love most all seem ripe with stories, smells, History with a capital H. the history of a woman or women i will never know. in chicago i acquired a '40s deadstock dress which came from the vaults of universal studios. it's never been worn and still has the original tags on it. that dress has a lonelier story, and i want to now give it a life in the sun.
i have so much i want to write, in the next few days: movies (
inception, life during wartime, valhalla rising, the kids are alright), books (
slut lullabies, some girls, green girl), music (joanna newsom live on her
have one on me tour), popsickle.