A scarf’s tale. (How it has unfolded thus far.)

I was born with a great thundering, clanging and whirring. As I wove into a perfect, sensuous square of midnight black, scarlet and green, I imagine some nameless, faceless silk worker mopped her brow and turned me over to the next task in the assembly line.scarf4

Not that I know much about assembly lines. In fact I barely remember my time in the store after I was packed and shipped, as I hung out with my kind – it is all a haze till I found myself in the discount bin.

No doubt, it was the 50% markdown that did it, because, as Bluey was to tell me later, OM loves pretty things, especially if they’re in her budget. I’m sure she looked at the ‘Pure Silk’ tag and immediately had visions of herself as Miranda Priestly with her signature Hermes Scarf.

But I get ahead of myself.

My first few months were lonely. I didn’t lack company, but it was never quite the right kind, till I found a kindred spirit in Bluey. I was consigned to a dark cupboard, not far from the underwired bras and the Plebs – a bunch of cotton stoles in bright colours – classless hybrids that were neither scarves nor shawls. There were longer stoles in faux silk in the most dubiously ordinary colour combinations.

scarf2Or there was the loud, garish cotton thingamajig that OM reached for surprisingly often – long and voluminous, Bluey told me it was used to hide OM’s sometimes often flabby belly.

Look I do realize I can never be as distinctive as the Gucci linking Gs, as recognizable as the Burberry checks, or as wildly luxurious as Miranda’s favourite Hermes. In fact there are times when I realize I am almost as common as the Plebs, with my generic, inoffensive design.

However, what I lack in edginess, I make up in texture and colour. If I say so myself, I do class up the joint. scarf5

Here I am with Bluey, who is a silk like me, but in pinks and blues instead. Her fair complements my dark, and together we’re like Monica and Rachel.

Considering how many times OM has taken me out and stroked me, she wears me disappointingly little.  I think she worries over how exactly to carry me, what to match me with – or she’s usually in a tearing hurry.

scarf3Occasionally, however, OM will feel a little jauntier than usual, or spend too much time surfing beauty and fashion blogs, and that’s when she usually remembers me. She’ll team me with her favourite beige Mango top, or her dark green button-down with the gold details, and when she’s not feeling too creative, with one of her black tops.

Then she’ll dab on her favourite Mac Retro lipstick and Mac Sunbasque blush, slip into her black heels and feel fabulous for a while.

Note: The scarf was picked up from Splash Fashions two years ago on sale, for 25 AED.  

scarf3a

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optimissie

I once wrote a diary. When I read it now, it seems childish. Then I wrote a book blog. When I read that now, it seems childish too. See a pattern? I write for a living, and so I've almost stopped writing for myself. The editor who's taken up permanent residence in my head, often strangles my words and ideas at birth. So am I an optimist as the title suggests? I don't know and I don't think I'll be any the wiser by blogging, but I do know one thing - I love beauty - in ideas, in words, in buildings, in art, in science, in clothes, in cats, in make up. Fortunately, even though my pores are on display in the profile picture, this is not going to be an up-close-and-personal, warts all take on my life. In fact, I'm not sure what it is going to be!

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