I was intending on writing a follow up piece to last week’s theoretical deconstruction of DFO, but that’s going to have to wait until another day, as something terribly exciting has happened this weekend.
I’ve moved into my very own apartment. All by myself. (Ok, with the help of mamaK and papaK and some fantastic removalists for the heavy stuff, but it’s just me living there).
Long story short, I was intending to move later on in the year. Circumstances conspired to make me more than willing to make the financial commitment of paying double rent for 6 weeks to get into my own place sooner. Luckily, the fact that I speak fluent real estate meant that I had an offer made within 24 hours of viewing an apartment that I truly loved. (If you ever need to know the secrets to this strange dialect of sales speak, inbox me and we can liaise – that’s real estate speak for talk, FYI).
This weekend just passed was moving weekend, and those of you who know me well, or can deduce my interests from this blog, would appreciate that moving all my books, clothes and kitchenware down and then up three flights of stairs was no mean feat. But it’s done, and, with the exception of my bedroom and a few other bits and pieces, my new place is ready for me to spend the first night there later this week.
What’s really thrilling slash eerie slash awesome about this new apartment is that it has more space to call my own than I’ve ever had in my whole life. Both the family homes I grew up in, in Sydney and Canberra, were quite little for the amount of people we had living in them. I can remember being awed when I went to other people’s houses and they had spare rooms, rooms that existed entirely surplus to requirements, with pretty floral bedspreads and a mildew smell from disuse. Or rumpus rooms: a room entirely for kids to do kid stuff in. Wicked, but a totally foreign concept at my place, where every space had double or triple functions.
When I moved out of home in 2009 and into various share houses, the same applied – I had my room, but all other spaces were shared, which resulted in some pretty super hilarious fun times. But again, I found myself wondering what it would be like to sleep in a room that didn’t serve as a workspace, lounge room, dining room and laundry all at once.
This week, I’m going to find out what that’s like, because my new place has two bedrooms : a bedroom for me, and an actual spare room slash study slash extra place to store my clothes. In my spare room there’s a futon for when Merry Helliwell, Kitty Gilfeather, Clementine Kemp or Katriona Winston-Stanley come and stay for a visit. My grandfather’s writing desk sits in a corner, waiting for me to write that novel, the novel that’s nipping steadily at my heels with more than a little encouragement from Mimi Goss and Zsuzannah Verona.
My bedroom, now just a bedroom, is now a space freed up for dreaming about all these possibilities. And, of course, for storing my clothes in the obscenely large built in wardrobe.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Monday, October 10, 2011
Theorising DFO Part One: Barthes
Roland Barthes was a French cultural theorist who, like most theorists, had a lot of interesting things to say. Sadly, understanding Barthes is like sawing through steak with the lid of a Tupperware container. You know that there is a reward for persevering, but your perceptual equipment isn’t sharp enough. His writing, too, poses some challenges. It’s like an over-pastryed sausage roll. A tasty sausage of knowledge is hiding for you beneath a thick, crusty, flaky layer of wordiness, which you have to eat your way through.
Which is why I feel it’s best to start with the familiar when exploring difficult theoretical ground. So let’s head to DFO.
(Incidentally, two meat related analogies in the one paragraph could perhaps indicate an iron deficiency on the part of the author. Or it could herald the start of summer barbeque season…)
DFO (Direct Factory Outlet, for the uninitiated) is located in Fyshwick. I have written before about my great love of this maligned Eastern suburb of Canberra, and the conspicuous presence of DFO is a significant part of why Fyshwick and I are goin’ steady. DFO is a large warehouse, with outlets of many, many, many different companies and stores. It’s loud, because the building isn’t properly insulated (it literally is a warehouse) and each of the poorly partitioned stores dials up the volume on the sound system to compete for aural dominance. There are also spruikers – terrifying people with microphones enticing you into their store with the promise of bargains, bargains, bargains.
What, might you ask, does DFO have to do with Roland Barthes? Well, quite a lot.
Barthes postulated in his discussion of literature that, broadly, you could divide texts into two different sorts: readerly texts, where the author’s intent was clearly conveyed and there was little ambiguity, and writerly texts, where the author’s intent was unclear and a high degree of ambiguity existed. Barthes argued that writerly texts extended an invitation to the reader to participate in interpreting the meaning of the text, and, as such, created a dialogue. Readerly texts, on the other hand, presented a sealed, closed off narrative, to be read, enjoyed, and absorbed, but ultimately untempered with.
DFO is the shopping world’s equivalent of a writerly text. It’s rough around the edges. You don’t know what’s going on a lot of the time, and any assumptions you bring to the text/DFO will be thrown out the moment you step through the doors. Don’t try and approach a writerly text with a firm idea of what you wish to get out of it. Guaranteed your quest for pencil skirts or nude wedge heels will result in failure. You may, on your exit, emerge without skirts or shoes, but with a Sheridan quilt cover for $20. Multiple layers of meaning, and multiple R&B soundtracks, fight for dominance in the one cultural space. Clothes, shoes, home wares are presented in a haphazard way – piled onto racks, crammed together, piled on benches, disorganised, chaotic. Stock can be anywhere from up to the minute to three seasons (or more!) old, and is often climatically inappropriate. Staff are too busy unloading stock to provide you with a helpful narration through this quagmire. You, the shopper, are presented with a delicious invitation: here are the goods. Make of them what you will.
Of course, the DFO experience, like a writerly text, can be exhausting. Sometimes there is no way of making sense of the disorder. Sometimes you want to be taken by the hand and be guided by a reliable narrator through Alana Hill’s Spring collection. Sometimes you want your ideas, your dresses, shoes, and jeans, presented clearly and in isolation, sorted by size and price.
Yet sometimes, the order and prescription of shopping at, say, the Canberra Centre’s Veronika Maine store leaves me cold. Beautiful dresses on mannequins beg to be ruffled. Neat racks, salesgirls who can tell you in an instant what stock is available out the back should you require a size down, the hermetic seal of up-to-the-minute trends, make me long for having to work a little harder, dig a little deeper through the piles of 6’s and 8’s for that elusive size 14. For the challenge of creating meanings and great outfits of my own, as I go about my shopping at DFO.
And of course, for the bargains, bargains, bargains.
Which is why I feel it’s best to start with the familiar when exploring difficult theoretical ground. So let’s head to DFO.
(Incidentally, two meat related analogies in the one paragraph could perhaps indicate an iron deficiency on the part of the author. Or it could herald the start of summer barbeque season…)
DFO (Direct Factory Outlet, for the uninitiated) is located in Fyshwick. I have written before about my great love of this maligned Eastern suburb of Canberra, and the conspicuous presence of DFO is a significant part of why Fyshwick and I are goin’ steady. DFO is a large warehouse, with outlets of many, many, many different companies and stores. It’s loud, because the building isn’t properly insulated (it literally is a warehouse) and each of the poorly partitioned stores dials up the volume on the sound system to compete for aural dominance. There are also spruikers – terrifying people with microphones enticing you into their store with the promise of bargains, bargains, bargains.
What, might you ask, does DFO have to do with Roland Barthes? Well, quite a lot.
Barthes postulated in his discussion of literature that, broadly, you could divide texts into two different sorts: readerly texts, where the author’s intent was clearly conveyed and there was little ambiguity, and writerly texts, where the author’s intent was unclear and a high degree of ambiguity existed. Barthes argued that writerly texts extended an invitation to the reader to participate in interpreting the meaning of the text, and, as such, created a dialogue. Readerly texts, on the other hand, presented a sealed, closed off narrative, to be read, enjoyed, and absorbed, but ultimately untempered with.
DFO is the shopping world’s equivalent of a writerly text. It’s rough around the edges. You don’t know what’s going on a lot of the time, and any assumptions you bring to the text/DFO will be thrown out the moment you step through the doors. Don’t try and approach a writerly text with a firm idea of what you wish to get out of it. Guaranteed your quest for pencil skirts or nude wedge heels will result in failure. You may, on your exit, emerge without skirts or shoes, but with a Sheridan quilt cover for $20. Multiple layers of meaning, and multiple R&B soundtracks, fight for dominance in the one cultural space. Clothes, shoes, home wares are presented in a haphazard way – piled onto racks, crammed together, piled on benches, disorganised, chaotic. Stock can be anywhere from up to the minute to three seasons (or more!) old, and is often climatically inappropriate. Staff are too busy unloading stock to provide you with a helpful narration through this quagmire. You, the shopper, are presented with a delicious invitation: here are the goods. Make of them what you will.
Of course, the DFO experience, like a writerly text, can be exhausting. Sometimes there is no way of making sense of the disorder. Sometimes you want to be taken by the hand and be guided by a reliable narrator through Alana Hill’s Spring collection. Sometimes you want your ideas, your dresses, shoes, and jeans, presented clearly and in isolation, sorted by size and price.
Yet sometimes, the order and prescription of shopping at, say, the Canberra Centre’s Veronika Maine store leaves me cold. Beautiful dresses on mannequins beg to be ruffled. Neat racks, salesgirls who can tell you in an instant what stock is available out the back should you require a size down, the hermetic seal of up-to-the-minute trends, make me long for having to work a little harder, dig a little deeper through the piles of 6’s and 8’s for that elusive size 14. For the challenge of creating meanings and great outfits of my own, as I go about my shopping at DFO.
And of course, for the bargains, bargains, bargains.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
The Most Amazing Goldfish Names In The World
Mimi Goss and I spent the best part of a walk around the lake on the weekend working out the ultimate thematic name groupings for pet fish.
Be prepared to have your mind blown.
Theme: Prince Song Titles
TheMostBeautifulGirlInTheWorld
RaspberryBeret
LittleRedCourvette
NothingCompares2U
DiamondsAndPearls
Theme: Ridiculous Politicians
TonyAbbott
AmandaVanstone
BobKatter
BobHawke
PaulKeating
JuliaGillard
BarnabyJoyce
StevenFielding
FredNile
Theme: 70s and 80s Recording Artists
PhillCollins
GunsAndRoses
ThinLizzie
BonJovie
StingAndThePolice
Bananarama
JohnFarnham
DuranDuran
Theme: Various titles of Prince
Prince
TheArtistFormallyKnownAsPrince
TheLoveSymbol
Theme: Feminist Theorists
JudithButler
GermaneGreer
SimonDeBoviour
Bellhooks
NaomiWolf
BettyFreidan
Theme: Ungrouped but Too Awesome To Not Consider
SnakesOnAPlane
!!!
&*%#
NapoleonPerdis
Clearly, it’d been a long week for both Mimi and I.
When I move into my new apartment at the end of next month and acquire said fish, I’ll let you know which theme was selected. Although I strongly suspect that I can’t not have a fish called TheMostBeautifulGirlInTheWorld…
Be prepared to have your mind blown.
Theme: Prince Song Titles
TheMostBeautifulGirlInTheWorld
RaspberryBeret
LittleRedCourvette
NothingCompares2U
DiamondsAndPearls
Theme: Ridiculous Politicians
TonyAbbott
AmandaVanstone
BobKatter
BobHawke
PaulKeating
JuliaGillard
BarnabyJoyce
StevenFielding
FredNile
Theme: 70s and 80s Recording Artists
PhillCollins
GunsAndRoses
ThinLizzie
BonJovie
StingAndThePolice
Bananarama
JohnFarnham
DuranDuran
Theme: Various titles of Prince
Prince
TheArtistFormallyKnownAsPrince
TheLoveSymbol
Theme: Feminist Theorists
JudithButler
GermaneGreer
SimonDeBoviour
Bellhooks
NaomiWolf
BettyFreidan
Theme: Ungrouped but Too Awesome To Not Consider
SnakesOnAPlane
!!!
&*%#
NapoleonPerdis
Clearly, it’d been a long week for both Mimi and I.
When I move into my new apartment at the end of next month and acquire said fish, I’ll let you know which theme was selected. Although I strongly suspect that I can’t not have a fish called TheMostBeautifulGirlInTheWorld…
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Sprung
Spring has sprung, people. The ten to twelve weeks of perfect weather in the Nation’s Capital are top on my list of reasons why I adore living here. Particularly because spring means it’s time to indulge in one of my favorite things…
Spring fashion. Oh my word.
See, I love me a bit of a mullet – an incongruous combination of business and pleasure. Spring fashion provides plenty fashion mullet moments. Bare legs and cardigans. Maxi dresses with boots. Sunhats on top, lacy tights on bottom. A hybrid, combining the best of your winter wardrobe with the cream of the early summer crop.
Spring is also a catalyst, enabling you change things up in your wardrobe. I know I only wrote about wardrobe clear outs a few months ago, but I’m all about change as soon as the first daffodils push their sunshiny heads forward. Whilst I didn’t get rid of too much this weekend just passed, spring cleaning my clothes was a great opportunity to get reacquainted with a few old friends. Vintage kaftan - I missed you. Let’s not leave it so long next time, alright?
Spring does have its downsides. Those first few cleavage sunburns, hay fever, and having to clear the winter undergrowth from my legs are not things I enjoy. But oh, to stroll bare-legged through campus on a sunny morning is worth all the sneezing, peeling skin, and razor burn.
Spring fashion. Oh my word.
See, I love me a bit of a mullet – an incongruous combination of business and pleasure. Spring fashion provides plenty fashion mullet moments. Bare legs and cardigans. Maxi dresses with boots. Sunhats on top, lacy tights on bottom. A hybrid, combining the best of your winter wardrobe with the cream of the early summer crop.
Spring is also a catalyst, enabling you change things up in your wardrobe. I know I only wrote about wardrobe clear outs a few months ago, but I’m all about change as soon as the first daffodils push their sunshiny heads forward. Whilst I didn’t get rid of too much this weekend just passed, spring cleaning my clothes was a great opportunity to get reacquainted with a few old friends. Vintage kaftan - I missed you. Let’s not leave it so long next time, alright?
Spring does have its downsides. Those first few cleavage sunburns, hay fever, and having to clear the winter undergrowth from my legs are not things I enjoy. But oh, to stroll bare-legged through campus on a sunny morning is worth all the sneezing, peeling skin, and razor burn.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Can’t Get Enough of Your Love, Babe
I’ve had a rather embarrassing song stuck in my head for the last couple of days. It’s Barry White, and ‘Can’t Get Enough of Your Love, Babe’.
Why is it always guilty musical pleasures that get stuck in your head, and not something legitimately cool? This, and other mysteries, I will have to ponder further and get back to you. For now, though, in an attempt to exorcise the disco classic from my brain, here’s some things I Can’t Get Enough of, Babe.
Layered Tights: It’s so close to warm weather here in Canberra, I’m loathe to buy new pantyhose, which means that I’m wearing tights that ought to have been retired to light duties three weeks ago. The nifty solution? Layering lace or mesh tights over a pair of opaques. The lace or mesh overlay obscures the worst of the holes, and the interplay of colourful tights peeking through black lace is a nifty way of dressing up an otherwise plain ‘teaching day’ outfit.
Bananas: Bananas, I’ve missed you. Luckily, you have finally come down to something I can (just) justify - $8.99 per kilo at my local grocers!
The Panics: Now, this is the kind of music I wish would stick in my head a little more than tacktastic disco. Their latest album is rocking my world particularly hard right now.
Crazy Cat Names: It’s a family tradition that cats get slightly whacky names. My brother’s cat’s full title is Jethro Francis Patrick Anthony Margret (he’s a special boy). If things go as well as I hope they will, I may find myself adopting a cat for myself in the next little while. Which means it’s time to work on whacky cat names. Current favorites are Ferdinand, Henrietta, Vincent, Dwight or Bettina. Or possibly all of them at once. Thoughts?
‘The Tudors’, Specifically the Duke of Suffolk and His Amazing Beard: Mimi Goss leant me her DVDs of all four seasons of The Tudors. It’s seriously addictive television. Particularly when Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, grows a beard in Season Four. Google pictures to understand why. I promise it’s worth it.
Why is it always guilty musical pleasures that get stuck in your head, and not something legitimately cool? This, and other mysteries, I will have to ponder further and get back to you. For now, though, in an attempt to exorcise the disco classic from my brain, here’s some things I Can’t Get Enough of, Babe.
Layered Tights: It’s so close to warm weather here in Canberra, I’m loathe to buy new pantyhose, which means that I’m wearing tights that ought to have been retired to light duties three weeks ago. The nifty solution? Layering lace or mesh tights over a pair of opaques. The lace or mesh overlay obscures the worst of the holes, and the interplay of colourful tights peeking through black lace is a nifty way of dressing up an otherwise plain ‘teaching day’ outfit.
Bananas: Bananas, I’ve missed you. Luckily, you have finally come down to something I can (just) justify - $8.99 per kilo at my local grocers!
The Panics: Now, this is the kind of music I wish would stick in my head a little more than tacktastic disco. Their latest album is rocking my world particularly hard right now.
Crazy Cat Names: It’s a family tradition that cats get slightly whacky names. My brother’s cat’s full title is Jethro Francis Patrick Anthony Margret (he’s a special boy). If things go as well as I hope they will, I may find myself adopting a cat for myself in the next little while. Which means it’s time to work on whacky cat names. Current favorites are Ferdinand, Henrietta, Vincent, Dwight or Bettina. Or possibly all of them at once. Thoughts?
‘The Tudors’, Specifically the Duke of Suffolk and His Amazing Beard: Mimi Goss leant me her DVDs of all four seasons of The Tudors. It’s seriously addictive television. Particularly when Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, grows a beard in Season Four. Google pictures to understand why. I promise it’s worth it.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Leaps of Faith
Shopping for clothes online is a leap of faith. So much could go wrong – wrong colour, wrong size, just wrong . Yet so much could go right, too – beautiful clothes delivered to your door, colours and cuts not available in Australia, the ‘ahhhh’ moment when you unwrap an airmail parcel.
I’ve got it wrong, badly wrong, in the past, but when a leap of faith pays off like it did for me last week, all past online disappointments fade away.
Back in early July (JULY!!!!!!) after months of emailing each other links to dresses we liked, Zsuzannah Verona and I bit the bullet and agreed to order some dresses from a US company called Shabby Apple (this blog has no paid posts, folks, so as in the past when I’ve recommended something to you, it’s done without any financial inducement on my part. So it’s with my hand on my heart that I can strongly recommend plugging ‘Shabby Apple’ into Google and checking out their website for some seriously gorgeous dresses).
I waited, and hoped, and waited, and hoped. I sent some polite emails, and got a US postal service tracking number, so I could log my parcel’s journey, which, at times, felt painfully slow, especially as I wasn’t yet sure if my leap of faith would pay off. Would all this waiting be worthwhile, or would I wind up disappointed and dissatisfied after weeks (months!) of longing for something of which I’d had only the most intangible of glimpses.
After a two day hold up at my comically mismanaged local post office, the USPS box was in my hot little hand. So excited was I to see if my leap of faith had paid off, I opened the parcel while waiting at the traffic lights on my way into work.
Oh my, how the faithful are rewarded!
Zsuzannah and my dresses were fantastic. Amazing. Beautiful. True to the pictures and fit descriptions. Better than I could ever have imagined, and all the better for a leap of blind faith - and a six to eight week wait.
I’ve got it wrong, badly wrong, in the past, but when a leap of faith pays off like it did for me last week, all past online disappointments fade away.
Back in early July (JULY!!!!!!) after months of emailing each other links to dresses we liked, Zsuzannah Verona and I bit the bullet and agreed to order some dresses from a US company called Shabby Apple (this blog has no paid posts, folks, so as in the past when I’ve recommended something to you, it’s done without any financial inducement on my part. So it’s with my hand on my heart that I can strongly recommend plugging ‘Shabby Apple’ into Google and checking out their website for some seriously gorgeous dresses).
I waited, and hoped, and waited, and hoped. I sent some polite emails, and got a US postal service tracking number, so I could log my parcel’s journey, which, at times, felt painfully slow, especially as I wasn’t yet sure if my leap of faith would pay off. Would all this waiting be worthwhile, or would I wind up disappointed and dissatisfied after weeks (months!) of longing for something of which I’d had only the most intangible of glimpses.
After a two day hold up at my comically mismanaged local post office, the USPS box was in my hot little hand. So excited was I to see if my leap of faith had paid off, I opened the parcel while waiting at the traffic lights on my way into work.
Oh my, how the faithful are rewarded!
Zsuzannah and my dresses were fantastic. Amazing. Beautiful. True to the pictures and fit descriptions. Better than I could ever have imagined, and all the better for a leap of blind faith - and a six to eight week wait.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
People Watching
People watching. One of my favorite things, and one of the greatest activities being a sociologist legitimates. It’s fortunate that my office has a window that overlooks one of the main campus thoroughfares, so all I have to do is turn my head to the right to get my people watching fix as I sit at my computer. Otherwise, I’d have to invent excuses to go downstairs multiple times a day (perhaps in the lead up to swimsuit season, this might not be a bad thing…)
There are certain groups and types of people I find particularly fascinating to watch. People alone in crowds or cafes, and whether they are comfortable being alone, or if they have props like phones or books or laptops to make themselves look less isolated. Parents and children, too, are always good to watch, especially how different people talk to their children. Lovers, of course, are people watching Mecca, although lately I’ve felt increasing urges to drive pencils through the eyes of those engaging in all-too-public displays of affection. I think that says more about me than about the lovers.
My favorite group of people to watch, though, is friends. There’s nothing as heartening on a cold winter’s day as watching a pair of friends chatting and gesturing wildly on the grassy common in Union Court. Or having serious consipirital chats in cafes, looking over each other’s shoulders to catch eavesdroppers like myself with a glare.
Better yet are the friends who unintentionally mimic each other. Case in point, Amity Merryweather and Beatrice Spencer, when I caught up for coffee with them yesterday, were wearing sartorial variations on a theme – pink tops with a black animal print graphics and jeans. They both looked fierce, and didn’t realize that they were unintentional wardrobe twins until I pointed it out. And then they laughed, in unison, as true friends do.
It’s so lovely watching these pairs of friends because it’s a pleasant reminder that I’ve been blessed with so many of my own. I see mirrored in the people I watch my own crazy hand movements, code languages, and meaningful looks exchanged with my nearest and dearest. A pleasant reminder of all that is shared, spoken and unspoken, with those we love.
There are certain groups and types of people I find particularly fascinating to watch. People alone in crowds or cafes, and whether they are comfortable being alone, or if they have props like phones or books or laptops to make themselves look less isolated. Parents and children, too, are always good to watch, especially how different people talk to their children. Lovers, of course, are people watching Mecca, although lately I’ve felt increasing urges to drive pencils through the eyes of those engaging in all-too-public displays of affection. I think that says more about me than about the lovers.
My favorite group of people to watch, though, is friends. There’s nothing as heartening on a cold winter’s day as watching a pair of friends chatting and gesturing wildly on the grassy common in Union Court. Or having serious consipirital chats in cafes, looking over each other’s shoulders to catch eavesdroppers like myself with a glare.
Better yet are the friends who unintentionally mimic each other. Case in point, Amity Merryweather and Beatrice Spencer, when I caught up for coffee with them yesterday, were wearing sartorial variations on a theme – pink tops with a black animal print graphics and jeans. They both looked fierce, and didn’t realize that they were unintentional wardrobe twins until I pointed it out. And then they laughed, in unison, as true friends do.
It’s so lovely watching these pairs of friends because it’s a pleasant reminder that I’ve been blessed with so many of my own. I see mirrored in the people I watch my own crazy hand movements, code languages, and meaningful looks exchanged with my nearest and dearest. A pleasant reminder of all that is shared, spoken and unspoken, with those we love.
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