FANCY !! 2016, July 7th
I always thought that I have been projecting myself as a simple, grounded, down to earth gypsy granola kind of being, yet with an occasional eccentric flair. But among my weekly trip to the dry cleaners, I have noticed that the owner, Mr Young, a middle aged salt and pepper Korean man with permanent smile on his face, regularly wressles with my chiffon.
He hangs up my gown, throws himself on the ground, and while on his knees, he trys to figure out what these layers of fabric are. He flipps around the garment, counting the layers, a perplexed expression in his eyes - as though he is on the verge of an enormous discovery or brake-through - eager to conclude his discovery... What is this? wether silk or cotton or linen, I always feel like I’m about to get into trouble.
He rushes to the counter and anxiously communicates with his wife, after which they shake their heads in affirmative exchange. The smile intimately at each other, he picks up his pen and notes on the receipt: FANCY.
My son's pants were listed as.....pants
His jacket where listed as.....jackets
But all of my items where listed as : Fancy
After several trips of this sort I was forced to take a closer look into the matter and honestly address the question: am I fancy? And if so, why? What dies this mean? By definition Fancy stands for: unusual, designed to impress, elaborate on a structure, a costume made for someone and meant to look like one that belongs to a famous person…. and all these where not even my stage clothes!
Well OK! I must admit!
I tediously line up a pair of jeans and top to simply attend coffee date with friends ;
a certain twist must prevail. Furry pockets, or rhinestone little fishnets for the calf...
I might indeed have a “dress it up side” I was born to. OK?
Perhaps I should feel kind of guilty to be twirling in a floor length skirt while hanging out with my friends. But I have come to realize that I have been making a conscious effort to simply blend in on a gray Monday, as I join the subway crowd. Undecided…I dressed down, then dress right back up... I must be me; I should blend in. I dress down again.
I uncolorize, de-heel, unglossify, render myself less noticeable.
I take the time to depersonalize myself to go with the flow; to get things done amongst the mighty wave of black, blue-ish and grey-ish blue jeans, tee-shirts and ocean of pastels...New-Yorkers.
Why? why! Yes! WHY?
I have come to better understand why I grow wings when I land on my island.
It’s a no brainer. I let go… I am me spontaneously me. No question about it...
No analytical skill needed to figure it out.
I can finally be ME: flashy, unpredictable, uncensored, and floor-lengh skirted. Me.
Distinct , Dignified.Free flowing ME ...Loudly me!
Because I turn around, take a look, and see myself mirroired in women who look exactly like me : Orange, white, linen, fushia, big bright yellow and unapologetic day queen...Like me…
I am actually the daughter of fancy… or culturally Fancy! at this point...
Now, when I go to Mr. Young ,he welcomes me with the same wide smile after my trips to my homeland. We laugh loudly; I spoil him with coffee bags from Haiti, and fully embrace my title with no shame: I say: “yes Fancy is here!!! Fancy is back!”