Futility in Fashion

Disclaimer: This post is a useless snippet and waste of blog space, but the recent encounter with my reflection compelled me to write about the sickly image that stared back at me.

Earlier today, I chatted with my sister and discussed the highly-prioritized British realm of fashion. I didn't actually acknowledge this revelation until I verbalized it, but living in England has made me care less about what I wear than before I came here. Don't, however, think it's indifference that's forsaken my fashion standards; it's the sense of unattainability I feel as I observe the vast wardrobes adorned by all of these intentionally disheveled beatniks. First of all, my unfortunate inability to grow substantial facial hair inhibits me from resembling any type of Kerouac-figure, and second, I am constantly forced to squander my money between two things: food or clothes. Which would you pick? The future of an all-comfortable and contented wardrobe seems, to me, unrealistic and, therefore, I give up. I'll have to remain satisfied with my generic, stone-like attire.

Again, until Tuesday.

I realize I haven't posted in several days. I'll have been to Hadrian's Wall by Tuesday, a visit that will most certainly yield a longer post than this one. It's not that nothing exciting hasn't happened, I just don't think anyone wants to read about the aimless gallivanting that has characterized much of my time here. There are, however, a few points I'd like to bring up. I noticed, and am overjoyed, that I have accrued several more readers, an aspect of this blog that fuels encouragement and support. I also wanted to discuss a blatant topic that, I'm sure, everyone's thought about at some point. The country of England, as in the actual size, is small enough, I believe, to fit within the state of Georgia. It's a phenomenon, then, that this island seems to contain such a rich history that seems, to me, much more vast than the United States'. Granted, England obviously is a much older country, but it's not only the history that seems more dense, but the geography of its culture. There seems to be just as many distinctive cultural groups here as there are in the United States--which is nearly fifty times its size. I listened to my roommate the other day as he described the various dialects throughout England: Geordie, Brummie, Cockney, Scouse, Welsh, Scottish, and so on, all contained within a relatively small country. I don't know how else to expand on that, but I do want you to observe the great, golden man I found crawling on the wall of the civic center:

Romeo and Juliet

Last night I attended a production of Romeo and Juliet put on by the Royal Shakespeare Company. They hail from the Bard's hometown in Stratford Upon Avon and visit, annually, Newcastle in early Fall. I saw--for free, might I add--the first play in their Autumn series; this includes Romeo & Juliet, King Lear, Antony & Cleopatra, and Hamlet. The play featured in the Theatre Royal, a magnificent, Georgian building that seems central to the historical Haymarket district in Newcastle. We sat in the second from the last row in the precipitous third-balcony region, towering considerably high above the stage and the rest of the audience. I once thought that I was in the steepest theater when I saw a play, in the last row, in the Imperial Theater in Augusta, GA. These seats, however, proved me wrong. But again, they were generously given to us English majors free of charge, so I won't complain. I wonder how many other perks the humanities department offers.

I realize it's almost sacrilegious to profess an apathy towards Shakespeare, but he's just never done it for me; it could just be my complete ignorance, or incompetence for that matter. This particular production, however, was the most stimulating play of which I've ever attended. The opening scene, where all of the men are biting their thumbs and such, was so intense and quite abrupt. There were pyrotechnics involved and lots of slashing around with swords. It was...intense, for lack of a better word. I was almost certain the play would take place in the traditional, sixteenth-century context, seeing as the characters were outfitted with traditional dress, but as several other characters ran on stage wielding active fire extinguishers I knew I was in for something different. Moreover, Romeo and Juliet wore complete modern clothing as well--Romeo, a hoodie and Juliet, some skinny jeans and a blouse. Their families and friends, however, remained in traditional attire.

My favorite part, probably because it resembled so closely the dance sequence in A Knight's Tale, was the scene wherein Romeo meets Juliet at the ball. The scene took on an almost tribal-like dance appearance. Most of the cast ran around in a spastic cyclone while Juliet belly danced in the middle...crazy.

The end of the play was surprising as well. As Romeo and Juliet lay dead, both of their families and several police officers appear on stage, all dressed in modern clothing, as if all of this was some alternate fantasy dreamed by two flippant teens. To me, the end suggested that this tragedy, and Shakespeare himself, is just as relevant to contemporary society as it was four hundred years ago. The familiar story of impassioned love, familial strife, vengeance, obsession, sacrifice, etc. remains applicable to our chaotic modern age, and it is Shakespeare who still manages to suspend our preoccupations with another one of his classic tales. It's hard for me, as I'm sure it is for many, to perceive the immense influence Shakespeare has had on the collective of literature, films, story-telling, etc. The basis of his plays and poems have historically become ingrained in post-sixteenth century societies to the point where current artists unconsciously draw from the same themes and subject matter. I suppose this is a perfect example of the intertexuality we see studied so often in literature, it still amazes me!