Enslaved after all.

I realised something today that makes me cringe inside. I've always considered myself to be only "mildly" influenced by fashion trends and what the fab celebs pick out for the red carpet. Priding myself on the fact that I am not oblivious to their power but also not a slave to the fashion industry.

But...

I came to the conclusion that if for some unfortunate reason I was stranded on a deserted island for a year and I was then reintroduced into society, there are two things that I would do:

Buy a newspaper

and a glossy fashion magazine.

I would think twice before putting on my skinny jeans from a few seasons back, in case the world had moved on from them and I ended up looking like an idiot. If suddenly wrapping yourself in cling film was in...I would probably consider it. I say I express my personality in my dress but all I'm actually doing is interpreting a set of fashion standards and calling it "my style". I abide by their laws and I frown upon those who disregard them. Basically what I'm saying is, I don't have a style, something that lives with me and becomes a part of me. I am in the hands of the fashion gods and they can do with me as they please.

"...the dressed body is a product of culture, the outcome of social forces pressing on the body." (Entwistle 2000)

These social forces I perceive as fashion trends and the way our peers and icons interpret them. I've never considered myself to be a fashion slave, but if I am not free to ignore fashion trends then I can only come up with one other conclusion...I am enslaved after all.