Sunday, June 7, 2009
Ironically, it is my recent move from the Mediterranean climate of Los Angeles to the swampy humidity of Philadelphia that has me looking to the Mediterranean for my summer fashion inspiration. Sticky spring days promise even stickier summers, so while I'm not wearing the clothes of a sixteenth-century cobbler (the life of an actor = never boring), I'll be lounging in a twenty-first century take on the clothes of a third-century (BCE) housewife. Flowy dresses that drape and allow not only for the consumption of a funnel cake or five, but also for the relief of a summer breeze are my desire for the sweltering east coast summer. White is of course ideal, reflecting all those summer rays away from my poor vulnerable skin, but I fear it will not end there. Before I know it, a pandora's box of togalicious togs will burst forth into my closet, while my fellow cut-off and tank top clad actors scratch their heads in perplexity. Summer, try your worst. I'm ready for you.