I love fascinators. They’re cute and interesting, and featuring them this week allows me to continue my month-long pursuit of slightly-less-than-typical accessories. I have a few fascinators myself, but nothing quite as fabulous and fancy as this one, here:
You know what comes up when you do a Google search for images of fascinators? Lots of picture of Kate Middleton.
First, I want to say how grateful I am to everyone who has participated in this along with me, either in pictures or on their blogs or just by doing it in their shy, subtle way, dressing the part with a whisper in my ear and a Mona Lisa smile each month.
Second, congratulations to the people who found out about this jaunt and then read The Night Circus and fell in love with it. (You’re welcome.)
Third, thank you also to the people who have encouraged me to keep doing it. I have been thinking about this project quite a bit lately, what with the anniversary of it approaching and all, and I’ve decided Continue reading “Anniversary Rêveuse”→
Calling all rêveurs and rêveuses to show yourselves when you make your wardrobe choices today. Below I’ve posted my rêveuse picture for March. Feel free to post yours as well, or link to it in the comments section.
Those of you who have been reading along for a while know that back in August, I read Erin Morgenstern’s exceptional debut novel, The Night Circus. It profoundly impacted me in all the best ways, and I wrote about it here on this blog, and then I decided that in response to this beautiful story, I would dress a certain way on the 13th of every month. I invited everyone I knew to do it with me.
I am thrilled to say that people ARE doing it. Friends, acquaintances, even people I don’t actually know… Believe it or not, my blog has readers in sixty countries now — a fact that utterly blows my mind — and I keep discovering here and there more people who are reading the book and falling in love with it as I did. In fact, it feels as if a charming little community is blossoming around this story, unfolding like paper stars in a cascade across the reading world, each one yet another person who has been persuaded to pick up the book and come to cherish it as we all have.
This Sunday is the next Rêveurs Day. I would really love it if all those who are participating would send me pictures of themselves dressed as Night Circus dreamers so I can share them on my blog, or if you’re posting it on your own blog (the fabulous and lovely Laine at idodoodletoo is doing so), please link back to me here.
Let’s see if we can grow this delightful fashion movement a little more, shall we?
Just a reminder: tomorrow is the 13th of the month, and so it is a Rêveur Day. Be sure to wear black and white with a pop of red, and then send me your picture if you feel so inspired. (And thanks to all those of you who are doing it even when you don’t send pictures. I enjoy hearing about it on Facebook, too.) For more information on what I’m talking about, please click here.
Here is the continuation of my six-part gothiness series. You can read the previous three parts by clicking on these links:
Part IV: Tim Burton, I’m Sorrowful to Report, Just Might Have Lost His Edge
I had always been a fan of Tim Burton’s work. Even before I knew who he was, Beetlejuice was my favorite movie. I had seen it fourteen times by the time I hit my senior year of high school, which in that pre-Internet time of Blockbuster Video and VCRs was a big deal. His movies were macabre and funny, visually appealing and well acted. I thought his stories were original. And who doesn’t love, love, love Danny Elfman? (I’m still listening to Oingo Boingo’s Dead Man’s Party.)
I loved his trademark black-and-white stripes, not because of any affection for black-and-white stripes, but because he had a trademark. Burton could be known even without an introduction. He had a strong sense of himself, and I gravitated toward that even before I consciously understood how much I admired and yearned for that quality.
But as much as I have always loved The Nightmare Before Christmas — to this day autumn finds me singing “Sally’s Lament” in the shower — I have to admit Corpse Bride left me feeling a little hollow. It didn’t have the fully realized grandeur of his previous movies, even though all the right elements were there. And with the notable exception of the incomparable and exquisite Big Fish, most of his movies lately have been…disappointing. His new take on Charlie and the Chocolate Factory was goofy, and his reimagining of Alice in Wonderland just about broke my heart.
But then he tackled Dark Shadows, and I allowed myself to hope. The early trailers and studio stills looked promising, the cast of the usual beloved suspects (with Michelle Pfeiffer and Eva Green thrown in for a bonus), impeccable. I started to feel excited, sure that his pitiful streak couldn’t go on for this long. And how could you go wrong with Dark Shadows?
He found a way.
Crackpot storytelling, that’s how. An inability to remember what denouement is — or the integrity of plot. More style than substance. And the worst use of werewolf ex machina I’ve ever seen.
I sat in the theater in a long black skirt and the most incredible Iron Fist shoes and wanted
to eat an entire box of Raisinets and chase them down with a whole bag of Twizzlers.
I don’t know why I should have felt betrayed. I do know I felt stupid for having allowed myself to hope.
But now there’s Frankenweenie, a film which has been expanded from its original short version — a short version which was one of Burton’s first projects thirty years ago. The reviews so far have suggested this one is worth a look, even considering the last several years of shlock. *
And once again, that eternal fountain of hope is bubbling up inside of me. If I could just find someone willing to see it with me, I’d be set.