Dance, man.

 As you may have inferred from the number of times I use the word "androgyny" here, I'm a big fan of contrasts.  

At times (read 24/7), it's true that this reveals itself in outfits blatantly conflating the ridiculously stringent categories of masculine and feminine. In other cases it's simply the juxtaposition of items that would, in their natural habitats, not be...inclined to mate. 

[[What did you just picture?]]

 Take Anastasia here, who (with raised eyebrows, but nary a complaint) donned a concoction that I would like to think of as the very embodiment of myself in textile form.

(No, this is not me. I am much more hobbity.)

A menswear-inspired t-shirt, a geometrically intricate yet neutral-toned neck piece, an authentic hyper-effeminate flamenco skirt (no really, it flirts with the dance floor on regular occasion), clunky a-sexual cow-derived footwear, and nose-squishing "birth control glasses" - a term to which The Man Repeller has so flatteringly laid claim.

I know, I know. They're no Yaz. Nonetheless...

Wearing: shirt: H&M, skirt: some real flamenco brand, ring: gifted, necklace: northern boutique, watch: Michael Kors, boots: Michael Kors

 The least me part of this wee ensemble is, well...not me. 

Hey, I'll work on it. The camera likes my hands. 

I mean, likes likes.

Cheers