What the Frock?

Say what you will about ol' Heather, but this chick knows how to clean up well.

I said she knows how to. NOT that her default mode isn't Full-Gremlin.

Since really settling into a new city, I've been finding my footing, which is pretty cool. And in that time, like I said before, I've been finding my group. There have been downs, as well as ups, but overall, when it comes to just hanging out with a cooky bunch from time to time, there's always something going on.

And, all people have cameras in their pockets, these days. Which objectively, I think is cool. Since William Henry Fox Talbot invented photography (eff off, Daguerre, and eat it, Niepce), it's slowly become more and more democratized, which I think is just fab. Back in the early days, the art form was rare, and pretty expensive. I've thought about this the last little while, especially since I miraculously came into re-possession  of a thought-lost backup flash drive that contained (amongst mainly drivel) a little cache of old family photos. I'm talking OLD.

One pic I had long forgotten about was one of the rare photos of my great grandmother. Check it:

Like, holy shit, isn't she hot? It's difficult to rectify the fact that your great grandma was a smoke show, back in the 20s. I got to know her, briefly-briefly. From what I understand, she was stern as shit; hope she found out how to let loose every now and then. But yeah, right? The resemblance is pretty cool. Big British pug nose, exquisite resting bitch face; solid cheekbones; hell, she even nailed the side swept bangs. There's one defining factor she and I do not have in common, but there it goes.

The reason I say all of this, is because there's not necessarily a rarity to photographs any more. And, again, that's a good thing. Back when I was alone during Covid, especially, it was up to me to set up my ancient iPhone and, using my considerably bad photography skills, capture pics of myself to share. Now that I live in a place where there are... What are they called... Oh yeah, people, I'm increasingly discovering (and I suppose there is no surprise here) that many of them are more than happy to play Richard Avedon for me. (Whether I necessarily request it or not...)

The pics I've been sharing for the past few days on Instagram, Twitter, and on here, are a random smattering of those pics. They have been kind enough to share, and I have been diligent enough to collect and organize. I will confess that I have fallen into the trap of social media -- I've taken some of my favorites (and more importantly, have taken the ones that help me tell a story), and prioritized them to go out into the world first. They have been flattering. They display that, apparently, my life is a never-ending giggle show of Champagne parties, artsy fetes, and gregarious outings. 

Alas, as I'm sure you know (especially if you've hung around here long enough), that my life is (still) a pretty solitary one. By choice, I might add -- I enjoy socializing, because I'm human; with my personality type, I try to find the balance so my batteries end up getting charged, and knowing when to bow out, before they get drained.

For the most part, then, I am casual. Makeup free. When they arise, my fashion decisions, in my Goblin default state, veer toward the purely practical. I am fortunate to live in a place that I have all to myself. It's humble, but it's all mine, at least for now. 

Truth be told, I prefer to walk around aunaturel. (And yes, there will be such shots on her soon enough --  have an essay for that, and it revolves around the repeated "but what about your back!?!" questions.) But? There are times when I need to be presentable, somewhat spur-of-the-moment. Let's say, I need to swing by the corner store to grab some provisions. Or, I get a ping from an Amazon driver who is dropping off a package. it's a me day, and I look like shit. 

So, next to the front door, I keep what I refer to as "The Frock." It's... Utilitarian, and little more. I mean, right? It makes me look like a whale with a little head and some arms sticking out. But you know what ELSE it does? Cover everything, and keep the air moving underneath. 

It's casual. It's easy. I can just pull it on, over my head, and walk out the door, 20 seconds, tops. Beat the living daylights out of assembling the engineering marvels that are my usual "I'm doing something for more than a minute" go-to's, like rigging up bras, and finding one of the few remaining tops I have where I'm not just bulging out all the time. 

This is a hideously long way of introducing you to "The Frock." And, as you might be able to tell in the above picture, an introduction that includes the WYSIWYG Heather: the one who woke up only recently, who is a little hungover, whose face is a little puffy, and who realized that she's all out of beer, and it's a hot day. Hair of the dog, right?

Frock Chic. That's what I call it. Custom modified, don' cha know. With extra buttons across the girls to keep them from popping out and saying Hellll-oooo! And, nicely tapered at the top, flaring out as it descends, so it doesn't look like I'm wearing a burlap sack on my shoulders. Got it on Amazon, originally! And my talented seamstress friend did the rest. Love ya, V. 

And, besides. It's a quiet neighborhood. Do I get stares? Hell, yes. But these days, usually only from kids, which doesn't bug me so much. The rest of the folks know that I have La Protección de las Abuelas del Barrios. If you're from Latin America, you know what I'm talking about. 

And, still. With CCTV absent, but cameras still everywhere... Every now and then, someone snaps a shot. whatyaseeiswhatyaget.