I have the simplest tastes. I am always satisfied with the best.

Tonight I am considering the ideas of sophistication and elegance. I am in love with them. In an abstract sense both of those words have always conjured vague images of clean, precise lines and expensive fabrics. For some reason 'elegance' has a direct connection with fashion in my mind, which in turn leads me to idle admiration of Coco Chanel.

I usually find myself conflicted at some point during this line of thought, because while I consider class to be a virtue above most others, I can never quite put my finger on what makes a classy thing classy. Money can be classy, but only to a certain extent before it becomes vulgar. Clothing can be classy - but is there a law that says, for example, that underwear as outerwear can't be classy? Surely not, because what was deemed risqué a few decades ago is now considered unremarkable.

The entire concept of 'modesty' (one I generally detest in the aesthetic sense) is completely dependent upon the time and place. I must concede that concepts of elegance are similarly malleable, adapting to the situation. I suppose the deciding factor for me is usually not the clothing itself but the way in which it is worn - an overt cry for attention is almost never elegant, no matter the setting. This isn't to say that wearing something extraordinary is necessarily tacky; merely that wearing something extraordinary due entirely to a craving for attention will most likely show in one's behaviour, and come across as pathetic.

I should note here that I am not the modesty police. The concept that anyone, women in particular, should be 'covered up' in order to be deserving of respect is abhorrent to me. This is not the issue. It isn't the fact that her boobs are on show, or the fact that she's trying to show her underwear to strangers in a bar, that actually irritates me - it's the fact that this display is merely an attempt to get people to "look at me". Now, this is not an unusual desire to have. But when it is expressed by people who apparently feel that their most interesting facet is a part of their body or a suggestive piece of clothing, it becomes a pathetic cry for attention, and that is what irritates me. This is an attitude, not a style of dress, and I find it far more grating than any outfit could ever be.

Maybe I should pity these creatures who measure their worth by so little that they seem content to rely solely on their own objectification to gain friends or admirers, but I think that would be a little too arrogant. I choose instead to believe that most of them are not really stupid or genuinely boring, merely lazy. It's too much effort for them to try and gain the interest and approval of strangers without the aid of a neon sign floating above their heads that reads, 'LOOK! TITS! LIKE ME! LIKE ME!'
Oh, grow up.


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