It was a meeting of minds. Both female. Me the svengali in my late thirties and my muse Sara a very grown up girl of eight. Sara loves dressing up and has an innate sense of style, a delightfully mischievous sense of fun and the limitless imagination of an artist. Being eight years old for her the lines between creativity and play don’t exist which is exactly how it should be.
I caught her before going off to school one morning and she asked me what I was going to wear for the day.
Mmm I am not sure I want to wear something really different I just don’t know what.
She thought for a moment then scrunched up her face and with some uncertainty suggested a wedding dress. She thought again. A beaming smile crossed her face. Then confidently nodding her head and flexing her eyebrows she said:
How about wearing this table?
She demonstrated carefully with her hands tilting them above her head slightly to one side before doing catwalk sashay shoulders to show how one would wear a small coffee table.
She said it partly in fun but there was also a serious intent to her unusual sartorial offering. It was not the precise literal solution to my predicament but in existential terms she had read my mind.
More Salvador Dali or Elsa Shiiaparelli than Gok Wang
The conversation stuck in my mind. It was exhilarating and so much fun to be a child again.
She demonstrated her flair for all things fashion numerous times in drawings, in inventive hair twists, and exceptionally artful accessorising. I have never before and doubtful may not again meet someone with such a fun and true sense of personal style as I understand it. Playful, creative expressive, and always fun.