I bought a shirt yesterday from Forever 21 with a large silk-screened cross printed on the front - I saw it hanging from across the store casting a cotton glow, and it spoke to me. It was 10 bucks, so I thought, "Why not? Crosses are trendy and it'll compliment my leather jacket well. I'll look like a badass biker babe. I'm into it." Michelle laughed under her breath at my purchase. When I asked her about her unsolicited giggle, she said, "Nothing, it's just funny." I brushed it off - I knew why she was laughing. Crosses are taking over the fashion world, and here I was trying to be an ubercool blog girl. I've already accepted the fact that I am an immense poser so this wasn't a very hard blow to my ego. Who can claim originality these days anyways? Our generation promotes being an 'individual' so adamantly now that individuality has almost lost its supposed coolness. Being a cloned copy is making a comeback, haven't you heard? Duplication is the new black. Where has Instagram been all of my life?
I wore the shirt last night. Asia said, "Lexi, what else did you buy today besides your super trendy shirt? By the way, God's gonna smite you!" I laughed like the witch that I am and lit a cigarette. I probably changed the subject too - why even try to defend the shirt, it was 10 bucks.
I wore the shirt again today to run some errands for my approaching trip. I felt so effortlessly cool throwing it on and walking into my southern California sunshine, looking a bit dark and relentless. Black on Black on Cross. First stop was the Cobbler, or rather, the Shoe Repair Man. This Dude and I have an understanding - I bring my fucked up shoes to him and he doesn't say anything about the condition of the shoes or the style of the shoes, for that matter. He has fixed everything from my beloved duct-taped combat boots to my six-inch black velvet heels that look as if they once belonged to a 90s call girl doped up on ecstasy. Go figure that those velvet beauties simultaneously broke, one shoe after the other, when I was completely inebriated at a Halloween party with a large group of Drag Queens in attendance. I spent the rest of the of the night barefoot, crawling around on the floor looking for my handle of Absolut vodka, accusing a group of lady-men of stealing it. It was a good night.
I bring some weird shit to the Shoe Guy and he doesn't ever raise an eyebrow. Today I brought him my studded mirrored wedge, which happens to be the only shoe that perfectly matches the height of my orthopedic boot. He told me he needed to ask me a question. I smiled a bit and wondered if perhaps he had finally worked up enough courage to ask why I have such an eclectic choice in shoes. Maybe he was going to ask me how I broke my leg, which isn't an unfamiliar question, seeing as I am asked it at least 15 times a day by strangers, elderly dementia patients, and acquaintances. He said, "Why is it that one person can come in here and just ruin my day? One person can just push my buttons...Why is that?" I thought, "Oh shit, I'm that person. I've ruined his day with my crazy-weird rave shoe. He is going to cobble me and make cowboy boots out of my skin. I am so fucked." But he didn't. He smiled and continued with his strange question and then proposed that perhaps the problem isn't with the day-ruiner, but rather within the person whose day was ruined. I agreed with him and attempted to leave, but I was sort of stricken with his wisdom, so I stayed and let him continue with his rant, which eventually spiraled into some confusing message about God, the Lord Jesus Christ, and original sin. I respectfully listened to his preaching for all of fifteen minutes, nodding politely and wondering what it was about me that had made him want to save me. Then I realized it was the shirt. Had he realized that I was a phony? Did he sense that my fashion choice had nothing to do with my religion? Did he think I was mocking Christianity? Perhaps he did. Or perhaps he thought I identified with him because of what was printed vertically across my chest. I was falsely advertising my religious views for all of the world to see.
When he finally finished quoting the Bible, he laughed and said, "Have a good one!", as if we had just had the most casual of chats about shoes and not the institution of Christianity and "the battle of God versus Evil." I left his store feeling very odd and incredibly stupid. Stupid for buying the shirt and stupid for being so fucking cool and ironic in choosing to adorn myself with an archaic religious symbol that half the world identifies as something otherwordly. The cross is a symbol that some devout, zealous, and pious individuals hold to the highest degree, and here I was walking around with my Agnostic head in the clouds making some sort of conscious statement that fashion and God can combine to create the coolest of cool. Everyone can wear a cross now! Atheists, Agnostics, Buddhists, Muslims, Catholics, Jews.... Everyone!
I was sort of annoyed that Forever 21 was making bank off of God, profiting from a religious symbol printed on a shirt that a 12 year-old Chinese seamstress mass-produced in a humid factory for $2 an hour. They might as well sell hijabs too!
Then I realized that Forever 21 prints 'John 3:16' in small font on the bottom of their plastic bags.
"For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life."
— John 3:16
Forever 21 wasn't falsely advertising their religious views, I was. I made the conscious decision to invest in something that I essentially mock every time I wear. I've never blogged about religion, politics, or other controversial issues because I'm not really justified in doing so, but I felt very ignorant in wearing a symbol that means something to someone else, but nothing to me, for the purposes of fashion. I felt like I should share my ignorance.
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