writes about clothes, shoes, hair, make-up, accessories, fashion - anything that's appearance-related, and a good deal else, because appearances are just the beginning.
Friday, May 20, 2011
What to wear to the end of the world
Preacher Harold Camping predicts the Second Coming of the Lord at 6pm 21 May. Given the man-made dictates of latitude, that's tomorrow New Zealand time. Only 2 per cent of us will be Raptured to Heaven; the rest of us will go to Hell (sorry about the caps: this sort of talk tends to bring them on).
So what should one wear? The question is made more challenging by not knowing in advance which particular party one will be joining and the fact that Rev Camping hasn't, to my knowledge, published any kind of dress code.
Hell has always sounded lively but ... well, pretty Hellish. But spending the Hereafter with the Right Reverend and his disciples (who presumably include God) wouldn't be my idea of Paradise either. Heaven as a particularly drawn-out Rotary Club function, to which business suits will be worn.
Right now, I'm in my favourite writing gear - dressing gown and slippers, and this seems to me as good an outfit as any to face Eternity. Comfortably unrestricting yet decent, and easily washable. One imagines Heavenly standards of hygiene to be pretty stringent, while in the Other Place there will be a good deal of sweating going on.
But wait - I've just realised ... at the moment the final thunder clap is due, I shall be taking part in the dance contest at the Southern Cross pub, and in tango gear. So if by some fluke I initially make it to Paradise, Rev Camping will take one look at my short skirt, high heels and lipstick, have a quick word with God, and banish me to Hell. Where I shall be the only one without a partner and the tanda will never end.
I'm a writer. Sometimes I write fiction and sometimes I'd rather do something else, like earn money, travel or dance tango. Whatever I do, I never stop looking. So this blog is about looking to write, writing to see, and seeing to think. I was once the kind of feminist who believed it was wrong to delight in such things. Now I'm the kind of feminist who doesn't believe that at all. I will never, as Linda Grant puts it, go beige into that good night.