WWe were at the mall walking in and out of magic mirrors, mesmerized by the wonderland of never evergreen garments. 

“What are you having?” I asked the photographer.

“A tiny burger,” he said with a quirky smile.

“Really? We were shooting for 5 hours, and you almost fainted holding the camera. Are you sure a tiny burger is going to fix it? We still have one look to cover.” I asked a bit concerned.

“Martha, I’m anorexic and need to eat in tiny portions,” he laughed. I wasn’t sure what to think about that.

The fashion world can be strange, indeed.

And I often found it to be just that. Strange. A constant song of style that we tried to remember and get it right. But it kept changing and changing like a tide on a beach near Jessie’s home. It was a strange song that never reached the radio but often the ocean or the sky; this time as a veil of smoke and trash, not shiny gray silk that gave you goosebumps when touching the skin.

“What is silkier my skin or this dress? Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?” goofed around Karen, looking at her reflection.
“Karen, you are a psycho,” laughed Jessie.
“I’m a fashionista!”
“Psychonista!” laughed the girls. “Seriously, how much can you shop?”
“Till I drop!”

How much sanity can one find in vanity?

And there we all were walking in and out of magic mirrors, mesmerized by the wonderland of never evergreen garments.

I put a white shirt and a grey skirt on and walked away thinking, is there…a different way?

Designed by me: grey wool blend mini skirt,
grey long mohair coat.