I had a professor in grad school who told me to let my freak flag fly. I put this into my thesis and I think about it often. I don't even know where that term comes from, if he coined it himself, or if this is some cultural ideology that just floats around in the noosphere, something that we are all aware of subconsciously. But it doesn't much matter, as I took it to heart and have been thinking about it during this project a lot as the act of leaving my house each day covered head to toe in somewhat unconventional clothing and being completely surrounded by strangers and friends alike can put the word freak in your head consistently. In New York, you can sort of choose your experience - the crowds can be a faceless, nameless mass that you can metastasize into and then divide away from at will as a tiny globular amoeba would, without consequence to you or the whole. Or you can choose to assert yourself and attempt to stand out in this crowd, identifying others, comrades, who do the same, struggling for individuality in the sea of personalities, clamoring for recognition of some sort, or justification in this expression. I think when I am choosing my clothes from my closet, something I have not done three weeks now, I am also able to choose how to play this card. But not having this choice, sort of being forced to fly my freak flag, has probably been a valuable test for me. I think I am starting to really see what my freak flag even looks like.
July 20, 2013 - dress
July 20, 2013 - as worn. i have no feet.