This blog may be quiet, but I’m constantly writing posts for it in my head. I have a list of topics, like how changes in life affect how we dress. How I style my wavy-curly hair, since it’s hard to find info on hair textures between straight and straight-out curly. How plus sizes are disappearing from physical shops, banished to the online departments. A reader once asked me how, if I were to get married, my ultimate wedding dress would be, which I thought was an interesting question on many levels. I’d planned a post on how what you wear affects how you think, feel and act, which I wanted to follow up with a post where I dress as different “stereotypes” for a day, documenting the experience with photos and notes on what it was like to be each “Maria”.
They feel like good ideas, these blog posts. I would like to read them myself, actually. But here’s the thing: I’m not excited about writing them.
I was talking to Maja the other day about how things have changed since we started blogging. When I created that blogspot-account back in 2008, blogs in general were still something of an oddity, and blogs about personal style were rare. I wanted a place where I could learn and explore, and then share my discoveries. I wanted to make a tiny little difference, for both you and me, with my tiny little blog.
Now, though, there are so many blogs out there, with gorgeous photos and graphics, with good, pedagogic instructions, with vibrant personalities and magical lives. I don’t like to do anything half-way, or badly. So of course I want photos and illustrations and infographics that look professional. I’d like to offer you individual services, so you could hire me for a colour analysis, or for help to figure out which garments will work with your body. I wish I could cooperate with eco-friendly, ethical companies, to make it easier for you to shop consciously.
Unfortunately, that’s just not possible for me right now. I’m not well enough to have a regular, full-time job, or even a part-time one. So how could I possibly demand of myself that I produce a blog equal to people who has the blog as their main job?
What matters even more is that blogging about style and clothes no longer feels that interesting to me, personally. If you’ll forgive me being straight-forward: I know I’m a good teacher. I’ve learnt so much writing this blog, and though I’m not “finished” learning (honestly, I love learning), I’m no longer the curious style-novice I was years ago. So sure, I can write a thoroughly in-depth piece on… say, shoulder seams, but it’ll mostly be Maria the Teacher doing her thing, not Maria the Explorer. Don’t get me wrong, teaching can be fun, but it’s not so fun that I want to write thousands of words on it for free when it no longer feels like it benefits me as well.
So here I am, with the luxury “problem” of a wonderful audience — but I no longer want to write about the subject for which they signed up. What do I want? I only know I want to write. No matter what project I’m playing around with, whether it’s the fantasy novel I’ve thought about most of my adult life, or a script for a short-film I’m making with my nerdy friends, some song lyrics, or even just letters to my pen pals, I always come back to this, the words.
What to do? I could force myself to write solely about style, as before, but if the past is any indicator, that means only posting once every six months. Which is just silly. I could stop blogging altogether, but that doesn’t feel right either. You see, I have hope that what’s kept you all around for such a long time, is not just my “lessons”, but my voice itself. And that, darlings, is precicely the thing I want to explore.
I don’t have a perfect solution, so for now I’m simply reclaiming this blog as my playground. I’ll just write, about… about anything, at first, and maybe some kind of pattern or red thread will turn up with time. I’m prepared for a wave of unsubscribers, but some of you may stick around, at least for a while. I hope not to disappoint.
Oh, and… *utterly casual* My next post is scheduled for tomorrow.