My birthday passed like a fish in the night, if the fish were making casserole; not unpleasantly, but without fanfare. We decided to postpone the ticker tape parade until our house is de-Canadianed. Helpdesk Man gave me a copper saucepot though, which is both pleasing to look upon and useful for culinary and defense purposes.
I have been musing upon steampunk again, as I scour the internet for the perfect necklace. I think I’ve decided that instead of a regular steampunk necklace made from watch mechanisms and cogs, I’ll get this fancy necklace and use an actual working fob watch for the pendant. Something like this little critter… only not that actual little critter, because it turns out that where I thought Helpdesk Man sent me the link in a “Hey, you could get this for your birthday” way, he actually sent it in an “I am comfortable enough in my masculinity to desire a watch with a Victorian floral patterned edge” kind of way.
Anyway, I’ve been rethinking steampunk after reading a few bits and pieces about it on The Steampunk Home (I read the entire blog) and various forae. I tend to agree that merely whacking a few cogs on a skirt isn’t really steampunk; that it can be much more authentic and subtle and classy than that. And I’m all for authenticity - if I have a design philosophy, it’s something like “Real, heavy, natural materials, implements rather than knick-knacks”. I’d rather have a kettle that looked like a superbly-crafted kettle than one that looked like a chicken; and I’d rather hang embossed shortbread pans on the wall of my kitchen than, say, cross-stitches about Country Kitchens; but only if I used the embossed shortbread pans, so I wouldn’t hang, say, a lathe up. Because I don’t use lathes. Y’know? I want to avoid kitschiness and matchy-matchiness and false notes.
So the question becomes, how does one strive for authenticity when channeling an era which by definition never existed? So I’ve decided to be very discerning about buying or making anything steampunk: if I didn’t like it before I knew it was steampunk, I ought not to allow myself to think it’s cool just because of its affiliations. Which is not to say steampunk can’t make me open up my mind to new design possibilities; just that I don’t want to dress to fit into the mold, even if the mold appears excitingly individual to the rest of the population.
For instance, I don’t like bustles. Nasty, ungraceful things. So bustles are out, no matter how steampunk they are. Victorian top hats? Iffy… I do look snazzy in a top hat, if I say so myself (long, sordid story involving an amateur drama group, imprecisely-applied goth makeup and the Time Warp); but on the other hand, would I really wear one out and about if it weren’t for being able to think “it’s steampunk”? Not sure. I will muse upon this. Dirigibles, on the other hand, I genuinely like, even though I hadn’t really come across them until recently. And I’m all for corsets, cogs (in moderation), brass machinery, wood, arty posters of flora and faunae and so on. But, say, if I wished to do a room up sky pirate style, I’d do it like a sky pirate would actually live; not like a regular ol’ room where the hamburger phone and the curtains and the bedspread were all covered with Sky Pirate (TM) fabric. Because that would be tacky. Which is ironic, given that I used to have Lord of the Rings movie posters and ill-fitting T-shirts all over my bedroom. Now I’d be more into building a room “in the style of the Rivendell Elves”, or better yet “inspired by the Rivendell Elves”, or - oooo - “a fusion” , no, “a synthesis of Art Nouveau-inspired Rivendellia and eco-practicality”. Maybe “a synergy”. Whatever.
This also ties in with my New Year’s Resolution, which - unlike my previous years’ helpfully concrete resolutions, was a vague waft in the direction of Quality. This, little dogies, is an interesting concept. You know that bod who was all “Eat what you love, but only what you love”? The idea being that your colon will glow and you will become a Slimmer You if instead of half-heartedly munching on aged corn chips sticking out from beneath the dog, you splurge on as many mouthfuls of organic grass-fed Dutch-pressed-cocoa chocolate cake as it takes for you to no longer love it. Savvy? It’s sort of the dietary equivalent of buying one $300 top instead of fourteen nasty weaselly little tank tops from Target.
And I’ve tried, really I have. I have refused to settle on the matter of a spice chest, with the result that my spices are still strewn around my pantry in little boxes waiting for the arrival of my at-least-twenty-drawer-hangable-on-the-wall-copper-lined-with-a-little-scoop-handcarved-wooden-conversation-piece-heirloom spice chest. Which I’m not fairly certain doesn’t exist… but every time I nearly cave and buy those cute modern magnetic spice tins, January 1 looms at me and calls me a quitter.
Same thing with clothes. Ideally: life is short, why wear clothes you don’t love instead of wearing superbly flattering, fits-like-a-dream last-for-ten-years all-combinable items of the highest quality which express the Real You, right? And indeed, if one does refrain from buying clothes willy-nilly one can afford to splurge on heftier items. Only in reality, it doesn’t seem to work like that. I still can’t bring myself to buy the $300 tops, and my pilly hoodies are there, beckoning comfily from the wardrobe…
Anyway, on one hand it doesn’t matter a bean in the grand scheme of things whether my nursing tank top is the truest expression of Self that ever there was. It’s warm, it’s clean… well, it’s warm. I should be grateful. So I’m probably overthinking it. Is it normal to have occasional surges of panic that one’s older self will look back at one’s cutlery set and think “Why did she choose THAT?”Anyhoo, it just goes to show how complicated living can be, innit.
I wonder if anyone’s ever steampunked a toothbrush. No! Not authentic. See, this is the thing I’m talking about. It’s like how I’ve gone off T-shirts, even ones which are brilliantly witty. ‘Cause clothing should be clothing, not, um, witty. Would Miss Manners be seen wearing an anti-velociraptors T-shirt? I don’t think so. I hope she’s aware of the problem though, ’cause only a fool doesn’t fear raptors.
