Like so many other starving artists with a degree but no job to show for it, I fancy myself as a self-employed freelancer. While this certainly holds true, I do make things for people who then buy them, it's really a flowery word for "the economy is terrible and no one cares that I have a Bachelor of Arts in Fashion Design." Even still, I wake up at the crack of noon every day, make myself coffee and have a cigarette on the back porch in my own version of "dressed-down" clothing, and think about how avant-garde my ideas are wonder when everyone else will catch up.
It should be noted, by the by, that "dressed-down to me means dressing exactly as I would if I were out and about, except maybe I'm not wearing shoes or exchanged contacts for glasses. Never does it mean I'm not wearing make-up, however, because I feel that my appearance and fashion choices are made almost solely for myself and if others choose to like it, all the better. Many of you may understand the fashionista mindset that all the world's a catwalk and the people merely photographers? I do that even when the photographers aren't around.
During my myriad of spare time, I freelance design for other local Las Vegans, from drag queens and Renn Faire players to people who can't seem to find just the right pair of jeans and a lovely shirt to go with them. On top of that I keep up with artists of other disciplines and then deign to join them on occassion (specifically here) . When I begin to lose my mind, I write a blog here and lasso it back. It may surprise you to know that those ramblings are actually my normal thought processes most of the time, not my plucky attempt at abstract comedy. Though I must admit, I get quite a kick out of it.
All of this may seem very glamorous, of course. I only lament that I cannot properly convey sarcasm in text form. Or that I haven't been on a proper shopping trip in over a year. Maybe that I don't have a car. Alright, and the fact that I can't treat my friends and loved ones to dinner as often as they do me. The point is, you should be so lucky to live in the glamour that an unemployed artist without money or conviction like myself does. I wouldn't trade it for anything, and that's no sarcasm at all.
