A Brief Fashion Interlude
If this were still a fashion column, I'd be talking about Kate Moss right now. That on-tape evidence of her snorting coke, etc. etc. But actually, is there really all that much to talk about? Kate Moss is photographed so we can imagine what it's like to date rock stars and tear holes in couture and wear it through the mud, then go back to sipping our tea and making grocery lists. So the press is back to the same hackneyed discussion, recycled every 5 years or so, about the fashion business having to balance healthy sales figures and PC advertising vs. edgy, creative, and sometimes completely self-destructive art. I give you the "Models are too skinny, 'real' (aka sometimes fat) women are beautiful vs. 'Real' (aka sometimes fat) women don't look as good in the clothes and don't give the viewer that aspirational feeling that leads to impulse buying. Which leads to money." argument. Or we could talk about that whole "heroin chic" thing. Or the "pedophilia" thing. Fashion worries about fashion. Not health. (Unless health means getting out of detox or spas or obtaining Madonna-like triceps).
Speaking of fashion, I wear a lot of black. That's going to be a problem once I become a psychiatrist. No one wants to talk about their dust phobia or their eating disorder to someone dressed like Dieter on "Sprockets." It doesn't say "sympathetic ear," although maybe it would be good on the days with patients that need more boot camp, less hugs. Maybe I could have, like, a secret black day, say, Wednesdays. I'd tell my receptionist(s) to schedule all the troublemaker patients on those days, and then I could wear my most ninja-like outfits then. That would be great.
Maybe Kate Moss needs a ninja doctor.
Meghan
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