Alexander McQueen is dead. I am surprised by how strongly I feel about it. I didn’t want to believe it. I knew so little about him, but I knew his clothes intimately, he was my greatest source of inspiration. Our “affair” was brief, but it was a love at the first sight.

The world has lost a remarkable  man and a fashion genius.

I just couldn’t not share this.

Mobile Mobile by James Théophane Jnr

I remember there was one good christmas I had with my family. I was still small, probably 9 or 10. We don’t do much before christmas. We set the tree the day before, after I came home from school. There’s usually a dinner and then some cake and family talk. It was just me, my mother and father. For the first time I hung around stockings. My own socks they were, but I had no idea people in the west make them especially for this occasion. One on the entrance door handle, so that santa would see it right away. And one on the kitchen window, in case he decides to get in that way.

After having a dinner in the living room and cleaning out the dishes I remember my mom asked me to go to the kitchen and fetch something. When I got back both my parents had round eyes. “Look, santa was here!” There lay a pair of pink shoes under the christmas tree, with pink double layered bows with black polka-dots. The soles were new and smelled with rubber. I remember the feeling of the plastic leather and the smell of new shoes. I don’t know if they fit, I have no idea what happened to them now or how many times I wore them. But I remember very clearly getting them. And how happy I was. When you don’t expect anything just about anything will make you happy. Then my mom returned from the kitchen with a present too. Santa didn’t forget her either. She got a set of make up brushes, and I knew it was my father and I was surprised he’d get her a present like this. I know she never used them. Did she not like them or did she not know how? They were lying at the bar, which she transfered into her beauty studio, for years and were the subject of my greedy childish envy.

The next morning I woke up and found that Santa found both of my stockings. I remember all the things he put in there. There was a Kermit shampoo bottle that I used carefully and saved the bottle as a souvenir.There was a Santa’s boot with a bag of candy on top of it. You could use the boot as a money box when you were done with the candy. There was a baby blue teddy bear with striped pajamas and a cap with a bob. It was lying on a matching pillow flounced with lace and sleeping. When you pressed his right paw a little play box was playing a lullaby.

The bear was always sleeping next to me and was transfered under the christmas tree during the season to remind me of that happy magical christmas. the Kermit bottle, after the shampoo was finished was standing at the top of my book shelf gathering dust until I filled 15 or 16. The Santa boot was standing right next to it. I saved the treasures of my happy Christmas until they stopped me reminding of it and turned into old useless junk.

Since then I don’t remember Christmases with my family. They grew duller and duller every year. After all Christmas is a family holiday. It’s about gathering together, creating the excitement of the eve and having fun eating, talking and opening presents. But as my family was falling apart Christmas was like an old thing used to be useful and left there out of respect to it’s glorious past. My parents divorced and we moved to Sweden. My mother’s new husband is a polish born grown up in Israel Danish jew. No Christmas traditions whatsoever. And my mom, going where the wind blows, with her own unhappy family past, wasn’t the one to stand up for Christmas spirit in the house. So I was spending Christmases at my boyfriend’s. There were danish and english Christmases. There are now swedish Christmases. And we get together and we talk and open presents. The only thing missing is my family.

But I still like waiting for Christmas.

I want a say in my life. I have allways been fighting for it. I was brought up to stand up for myself. If I can’t stand for it I’m not worth it – that’s my motto. That is why I have very little tolerance for weak people.

And I was growing heavy under the heapes of authoritative statements from Very Respectable People. It is so dumb to say things that are wrong. It is so wrong to say thing that are dumb. It’s last years snow and I am shaking it off. If somebody thinks differently let them argue their point. If they can’t – I win. If I can’t – I lose. I just have to be careful to always think of what I say. But whatever it is I have to say will be said, whatever feeling, whatever though – will be expressed. I will not be oppressed. I feel swelling with strength. It is not a fight. It is only a stand, as a woman should stand on her feet.

I love you baby

and found these bits and odds

By Hanens Anderzén

four bony lasses

and we were making faces to each other

get nostalgic. I think a place where I am now is the best place to be. But sometimes you just find an old film between the boxes when you move and then pieces of a puzzle that have fallen off the board a while ago emerge and settle slowly down like particles of dust in the morning sun light.

my sweet 50’s and 60’s

That’s what I like to look like today

Optimally I am going to be looking as close to this as I will manage: