Fashion had always been a way of expression to me. I remember how it started, I must have been around 10 when I for the first time picked out my own outfit to wear to a big National celebration. I had chosen a lemon yellow mini skirt, a pink t-shirt with a see through heart at the cleavage and plastic glitter heels. This was in a time when people were a lot less bold when it came to what they wore than they are today. I did not think anything of it though until I saw how people were staring. Right then and there I knew that I was, and was always going to be, an outcast.
When I moved to Oslo in my late teens I was about the only one who wore dresses. Even to parties, I was usually the only one wearing a dress. This has changed dramatically since then, and I think the emerge of fashion blogs had a lot to do with it. I loved dressing up, and suddenly you were allowed to do so! My own blog at the time, being one of the first ones on the scene, got pretty big. To me it was mostly about expressing myself, but the lines got blurred and in the end I felt nothing like a display mannequin, eternally doomed to femininity and perfection.
Often in life I have tended to sway from one extreme to the complete opposite until finding a sort of balance. This is what happened when I one day left the blog for good and never looked back. I wanted out. I mean, not only out of blogging, but also out of being so damn pretty. I started with shaving practically all my hair off. That was the end of me getting picked up at night clubs. And I liked it. Then I got a major tattoo on my right arm. It was the only way I could think of to express a sort of detachment from my own body. It was like quitting the image of perfection for good, I would be scarred for ever. Later I got a big tattoo on my other arm as well. I just didn’t give a shit.
In addition to this, and to taking on a habit of heavy whisky drinking (embracing all my masculine sides) I also wore completely different clothes. I always had an affinity towards stripper heels, I just could not get them high enough, but I would in the past always play them down somehow. Now I took it all out. Loads of black make-up, fetish like accessories, leather mini dresses and mesh panty hoses. I took it all out and I looked like trash most of the time. I loved how, by then having ended up in the fancy part of town, did not at all fit in with the crowd. I’d go to fancy restaurants with my panda eye make-up from the night before and my hoodie that had been wrecked in the washing machine. It was like I was playing a brand new part, and it was in many ways the opposite of the one I had played as a blogger. But still, it was also in many ways the same.
Since then I have toned it down considerably. I have found a balance where I do not need to shove my looks in the faces of other people, and where femininity and masculinity can play equal parts, and where I can be just as trashy as sweet. I had a need to completely destroy and separate myself from what I had been until I was able to find more stabile grounds.
There are not many pictures of me from this time, the worst of it was never documented to my knowledge. This one taken by Hilde Holta at least shows me with much less hair, a big tattoo and some dubious accessories. Today B is the proud owner of this “thing”, whatever it is. I put it on him on our first date. It looked great on him! Maybe that’s why I ended up diving in for a kiss in the end?