Of the Black, Old and New

A piece of flash fiction by yours truly. Enjoy!

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Spots are the new black.

I don’t know how that got started. The same way any fashion gets started, I suppose. Somebody shows up wearing such-and-such a thing, and it’s probably seven shades of ridiculous, but they wear it with such confidence that everyone assumes it’s the clothes that did it.

The clothes make the man, right? Or the woman. Or the up-and-coming fashionista child. I guess the clothes really do help to make that last one; can’t have a fashionista without fashion; that’s just ista, isn’t it? Generally, though, how you clothe yourself has no bearing on the person you are. You don what you do because you’re you, and your attire’s just an outer reflection of that.

Say you’re someone important. Is it because you’re wearing a coat with big brass buttons and a hat up to there? No, that’s what you wear to show you’re important – or someone who wishes he were, and is hoping to fool the rest of us. You ask me, the only fool’s the one in that mile-high hat. But nobody did ask me. They ought to have. I may not understand the why of fashion, but I always know the what. So when I say that spots are the new black, you can take that to the bank.

“The new black”… I’d certainly like to know how that expression got started. I mean, I can see why a color would aspire to be black. It’s chic, slimming, goes with all the colors… because of course it is all the colors, mixed all together. Black, the everycolor! But then, so’s white. Why not call a thing “the new white”? Don’t tell me it was after Labor Day. No one buys that rubbish rule anymore. If anything, wearing white after Labor Day is the new black.

Spots and white, then. Oh dear, I’ve just caused a spike in the abduction rate of Dalmatian puppies, haven’t I? Never mind the white. If the spots are black, they’ll go with anything; say… black-spotted gold. That could be big, I think; if it can last. There’s only so much that can be done with it. You can’t go out every night in a little black-spotted gold dress. It’s too much of a statement piece, and when you start making the same statement too often, people stop listening. Black-spotted-gold pumps might get their fair share of use. Or a black-spotted gold purse. And you know, I don’t mean to scare the puppies, but furs are coming back. A black-spotted gold fur coat would scream expense – a must, in fashion. Not as loudly as, say, a black-spotted gold cheetah… Or would those screams be mostly coming from passersby? Screams of jealousy, no doubt. Alarm, yes, but largely jealousy. Anyone who can afford to accessorize with wildcats has gone well beyond the cutting edge. Cheetahs as the new handbag Chihuahua. Now that’s confidence!

The story’s inspiration.

Don’t think you can pull it off? Fine, have it your way. But no one ever made it in fashion by playing it safe. Or playing it sane. Trust me: Madness has ever been the black.

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(Enjoyed what I wrote? There’s loads more where that came from! Browse the DEShipley catalogue, why dontcha. Or if you wish, leave a tip on my GoFundMe page; I’m covered for Outlaws of Avalon 2, praise God, but there’s always Book 3 and beyond… ;D )

Fancy Footwork

Welcome to the Stranger Than Truth Club Minutes, featuring conversations between me and my closest group of friends – one, my IRL bestie, the rest… a little reality-impaired.

“But what we lack in so-called reality,” Will Scarlet inserts, “we make up for in awesomeness!”

Fact, that.

The way of it is, the Stranger Than Truth Club takes people from all walks of life, universes, times, and species, and brings us together through beautiful, ever-evolving, cross-plane friendships.

I wish I could give you a glimpse into our insightful, loving, hilarious, open community. Unfortunately, I can only give you transcripts of our idiocy.

And so without further ado: Truth is stranger than fiction. We are—

Danielle: I actually don’t know what boots to wear [in my Will Scarlet cosplay], because I don’t have any tall brown ones, and he doesn’t like black.

Tirzah: Why not? Black makes the red pop.

Danielle: I mean, maybe if they were the right kind of boots, he’d deal with it. But—

Will: The black boots you’ve got are too Allyn-a-Dale.

Allyn: Meaning?

Will: Y’know. They’re all zippers and chains and straps and—

Tirzah: Emo.

Will: Yeah, like, flick-your-fringe-off-your-forehead.

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Allyn: Pretty sure we have some black boots in the house that are just laces.

Will: Yeah, but those aren’t cool enough.

Allyn: So when they’re cool, they’re too Allyn-a-Dale. And when they’re not cool, they’re boring.

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Will: Really, I’m just mad she won’t wear the red ones. She says they’re not comfortable enough. And I wanna be like, “Beauty is pain. Wear the red ones.”

Danielle: Look, if it were your pain, you could wear stilettos, and I wouldn’t care.

Tirzah: He would, too.

Will: And I wouldn’t be the most strangely dressed person there.

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Allyn: You should go as a belly dancer, just so I can get pics, and someday, when you learn to be ashamed, I’ll have blackmail material.

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Will: I don’t have belly dancer moves.

Tirzah: But do you have the moves like Jagger?

Will: Lord, I hope not.

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What Will actually says: Who do I have moves like?…

What Tirzah hears: I have moves like God.

Tirzah [incredulously]: You have moves like God?

Will [rolling with it]: Not that I’ve seen. I keep challenging him to break dance, but he’s like, “Nah, son, you can’t handle me.” I’m like, “C’mon, put it where your mouth is.” But he’s like, “Bro, I’ve got nothing to prove.”

“Girly” or “8 Things My Double-X Chromosomes Have and Haven’t Done to Me”

I can’t remember the context to save my soul, but I’ve yet to forget that one time some boy at karate camp said of me, “Typical girl.” In hindsight, I don’t know why that didn’t make me mad. Call me “typical anything”, these days, and I’ll take ten kinds of offense. The girl part? Whatever. I do happen to be a girl, for whatever that’s worth.

What is it worth, I wonder? How many of my traits might one chalk up to my gender, and how many might appear to fly in the face of it?

*cue the “It’s Time for a List!” song*

…There is no such song? Boo. Well, I compiled a list anyway.

Positive (+) “Of, Relating To, Or Having the Characteristics of a Girl or Girlhood” Points:

1) I like Disney Princesses. That is, I don’t hate them, and I’ll tend to like their movies. A fairy tale where the whole world might break into a song number at any time (including, potentially, the “It’s Time for a List!” song): What’s not to love?

Do I think Disney Princess should count as a “girly” thing? If we’re talking about the characters or their stories, no reason any-old-body shouldn’t enjoy them. Fairy tales for everyone, says I! If we’re talking about the glittery merchandising, um, if that’s your aesthetic preference, go for it, I guess. I personally can only take so much pink fluff.

2) I have a hard time getting into Sci-Fi. Not counting, say, superhero films, which I will dislike or love, depending on my assessment of the production values. Technology and I are bitter enemies, and I don’t enjoy the idea of big, dark, empty, don’t-breathe-wrong-or-you’ll-die outer space.

Do I think Sci-Fi should count as a boy thing? Certainly not. More power to anyone of either gender who has a higher tolerance for it than I. And don’t think I’m not about to give “Fortune’s Pawn” by Rachel [Aaron] Bach a fair try, because, hello, she wrote Eli Monpress.

3) I squeal for puppies and babies. Shamelessly.

Do I think puppy/baby love should count as a “girly” thing? Not at all. Guys loving puppies and babies is adorable. (Just one reason of a thousand I love Edgwyn Wyle.)

4) I went through a boy band phase. And when I say “boy band”, I mean the Backstreet Boys. And when I say “phase”, I mean they’ll always be my favorite, even while my obsessions move elsewhere.

Do I think boy band fandom should count as a “girly” thing? That depends. Do you have a sticker of your band favorite’s face in your journal which you proceeded to draw little hearts around and sigh over? Because that sounds pretty girly to me. *Past Danielle hangs her head*

Negative (–) “Of, Relating To”… Okay, You Know the Definition, By Now, We Can Just Say “Girly” Points:

1) I didn’t join the “Lord of the Rings” train for Orlando Bloom. It was the Balrog scene.

Marketing: You’re doing it right.

Do I think fascination with monsters should count as a boy thing? Rubbish. Monsters are epic. Frequently terrifying, but epic. And EPIC knows no gender.

2) My time spent on my hair and makeup is statistically zero. Ain’t nobody got time for that.

Do I think a time-consuming hair/makeup routine should count as a “girly” thing? Sounds like an actor thing, to me.

3) Shoes and handbags do nothing for me. Unless we’re talking really epic boots that remind me of, say, Robin Hood. Still doesn’t make me want to lug a purse around, though.

Do I think a shoe/handbag obsession should count as a “girly” thing? I lump it all in the “fashion” category, which anyone is welcome to care about so long as I don’t have to. Edgwyn and Will Scarlet, go mall crawling without me.

4) I am largely indifferent toward chocolate. I don’t dislike it. It’s a nice now-and-then treat, if I’ve got a taste for it. By and large, though? I’d rather have fresh fruit.

Do I think chocoholism should count as a “girly” thing? No way, man. Chocolate is tasty stuff. That I can’t work up much enthusiasm about food, more often than not, is my problem. Have a slice of cake for me, somebody.

(+4) Points + (-4) Points = 0 Gender Arguments Validated

Those are just the attributes I could easily categorize based on what I gather to be female norms/stereotypes/expectations. I don’t think most of who I am is a gender thing, or a race thing, or an age-group thing. On the whole, I’m pretty much a Danielle thing – which is so far from typical, thank you very much, Karate Camp Boy.

How ‘bout you, readers? Where you do feel you fall on the “girly/boyish” spectrum?