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“Well, after I’ve been to University, I’m going to be French and I’m going to Paris and I’m going to smoke and wear black and listen to Jacques Brel and I won’t speak. Ever.”
I’ve always thought of my future in this way, though more as an Anglophile, rather than Jenny’s Franco.* There has always been a portion of myself that has known that nothing would make me happier than not only seeing England, but living there. This knowledge has been brought to the forefront of my consciousness after finally having the chance to watch An Education. It startles me how one character has been able to make me see myself so clearly. What’s more terrifying, I know that this has happened, but I still feel like, even at the age of 24, I am still very much like the younger Jenny.
Then again, I think this is perhaps the point of the film. I am afeared to even search for the film’s title on Tumblr as it is where everything hip and introspective goes to die. Which, you know, would count this particularly introspective** post among the dead. Instead, I will live in my own happy delusion that I am the first one ever to write about this and be pleasantly surprised when someone brings to my attention that, yes! They have felt this way before, too! There will be much hair braiding.
Didn’t I once say I would stop writing things like this on little to no sleep?
Oops.
I could, of course, dig into something a bit more shallow about the film, thus bringing it back around to the point of this blog***, which is fashion and inspiration for my photography. So, I’ll just get it out right now. I love every single thing Carey Mulligan wore in this film. Even her school uniform was gorgeously put together and has me wishing for a pair of knee socks (maybe a bit more Miu Miu in fashion, but knee socks nonetheless) and grey wool. Of course it’s easy to love the Audrey Hepburn-esque pillbox hats, especially considering my deep love for the era, but I think there was something gorgeous about the drab in this. Also, let us, just for one minute, talk about how Rosamund Pike’s Helen was supposed to be the fabulous one, but Carey Mulligan got the much better wardrobe. I’m just saying.
Maybe that is enough fashion talk for now. It was a nice distraction from my lack of sleepy time feelings for now. Also, this is perhaps the most I’ve written all summer, so there’s always that.
* It should be noted that I have tried my hardest at pushing my affinity for all things involving the British Isles aside for a serious love of all things France. This failed for numerous reasons including, but not limited to, the basis of this shift involved a certain actor. I still love French fashion, art, music, and architecture, however. I also love German food more than I love some human beings and I will gladly listen to an Irish accent for months… Maybe I am less an Anglophile and more an indecisive Europhile. Still, though. For the sake of this blog (and its lengthy footnotes), I am an Anglophile. Period. The end. Thank you.
** Well, as introspective as I usually allow myself to be on the internet. It’s a scary place that is not fond of innermost thoughts and ramblings of twentysomethings… or so I hear.
*** I hate this word and have avoided using it until this point as “journal” and “website” seem a bit ambitious.
