10
August 27th, 2009
Unwritten.
{ image source: g a r a n c e d o r é }
Something about the unkempt bed hair and smokey eyes is undeniably alluring; perhaps because it is a standout against a crowd of perfectly coiffed ladies, who spend hours in the morn applying perfectly winged liner and a red lip. That just-rolled-out of bed hair, slightly suggestive of a rather exciting evening, in addition to makeup left on from the night before is simply fascinating. For she alone is proof that a woman can in fact grab her handbag and run out the door in a minute’s time sans the daily routine of dolling up. Because a woman shines most in a state of nonchalance, radiating wild and uninhibited beauty in imperfect perfection.
But her ability to catch all eyes extends far beyond the rumpled hair and bedroom eyes, the blasé loose tank and a chic scarf loosely thrown over (an aside: I must find the perfect leopard print scarf!). It is the glimpse of ink on her side, one that gives a peek of a tattoo that few bystanders catch, but later doubt if they did actually see something. The mysteriousness, the romanticism of tattoo in cursive, inked to her skin in such a demure fashion is unbelievably beautiful. For so long I’ve admired those who embraced tattoos; a rosary on the ankle, a meaningful quote inscribed on their back. On men it gives the undeniably sexy, bad-boy look; on women, it is adds mysteriousness and edginess. Whether or not such effect comes with preconceptions of tattoo-baring people really is irrelevant at this point, because the effect is in fact unique, inimitable by clothing or hairstyle or makeup.
It may come as a surprise to most to hear that I have always (in secret) wanted a tattoo. I loved the idea of being rebellious, of wearing my heart and mind on me (literally), of letting it speak for itself, of being different. After all, a tattoo expresses so much more than clothing or accessories ever could; it takes permanent residence on your physicality, leaving an eternal mark and reminder of whatever was significant to you at the time. I have longed for a simple word or quote, inscribed in black script along the ribcage on the side much like the woman above. Only glimpses of it can be seen with more revealing ensembles, in the bedroom, or at the beach, otherwise covered with modesty.
But I am still in the process of brainstorming that perfect word/phrase. Perhaps something in Latin or French?
bisous,
La C.