Tuesday, December 29, 2015





Sometimes I wonder if what I do is really blogging and if what I actually write about is fashion. Existential questions pop into my mind lately when I try to post something. These kinds of questions somehow inspired me to write the last post of the year or the first one in a long time, depending on if you see the glass as half full or half empty.

 I started my blogging a few years ago doing posts on collections and a variety of themes, the ones I enjoyed the most were the ones about the history of items and those related to music and such. In fact one of my favorites was about a trip to the Corona Capital Music Festival in Mexico City and more than a review of what I wore, it was a guide on how i managed to get through the whole experience.

Writing is a thing that has been very well done in my family. My great grandfather and grandfather wrote books and my dad had many stories published in different magazines and newspapers, so you can say it's kind of hard to fulfill those high expectations. The quality of their work specially in themes concerning history is something I long to achieve but at the same time scares me to the core, So when a friend suggested I should start a blog, which was something I've never heard of before, it gave me a chance to write without the pressure of being in the eye of critics. 

I would have never thought this was going to be something that would open so many doors for me, meeting so many interesting people and doing so many things I would never imagine doing.  But in the end, for me it's not about the runways, the parties, or the events, it is about overcoming my own insecurities and inner fears.

 I'm just the kind of person that thrives on the emotions that things bring. Clothes give me emotions, they can transform me into just about anything, and most of all they can give me confidence when you are lacking it, or at least that is how it works for me.

My first post, I think was about barbie, so if you actually analyze it has not that much to do with fashion itself, others were about my trips and it became like a journal of how an ordinary person could do ordinary things and turn them into something worth reading about just because she dressed the part. The one responsible for the real fashion content was my blog partner at that time, the famous "Beardo" Mynor Veliz.  He is like a scholar of the arts when it comes to fashion so no wonder his blog turned out to be one of the most popular blogs with content that people actually read.

After fate decided we should part our own way, Life in Plastik, our little experiment had been something that inspired others or so I've been told. Still, I was unsure of what to do, due to my history of unfinished projects the blogging thing was something that was sure to be overthrown by some other crazy idea of mine. I never finish things, the fear takes the best of me, so I guess being able to write this today is a huge step. 

Just fashionably depressed is a reflection of who I am, I'm not constant, but It is passionate, real, and most of all true to itself. I would never dream of compromising the person that has taken me more than 30 years to be. Even the name reflects the reality I struggle with each and every day. Although sometimes I think it's time to let it go because my photographs do not have the quality of others, I'm not as young, or because I haven't really evolved into something more than what you see.

Growing up has never been something I could do easily, neither accepting things and dealing with change, but I'm still trying. I can't say it's a proper fashion blog because It will never tell you what to wear or tutor you on something, but there is something I can promise, It will always take you places and make you feel things. At least is what I'm aiming for, to be felt like a movie with the right track in the background.

So this is my blog, It's as far away from perfection as I am.
 Still struggling, but with something to say
It's what I've been doing since 2008.
keep on reading, because I'll keep on writing.



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