The Naked Truth

I think some people have this idea that everyone who likes fashion, likes attention.

A lot.

And though in some cases this may be true, I can personally attest to the fact that not all well-dressed streetwalkers love the lens.

Crave the camera.

Plead for pics.

Beg to be blogged. (I could do this all day)

Photo misleading. She did not, in fact, beg to be blogged.

Though I've not yet formalized any wildly insightful theory referencing Freud in some obnoxiously disturbing and unrelated way, I do know that when it comes to my personal style, it's completely motivated by ... me.

Which is why I think that some of the best street stylers I see get so flustered when I ask to take their picture.
If a person's clothing is like a second skin - then examining it in detail is a bit like being naked.

Omg.

Every item - every shoe, every scarf, every expertly cuffed pant - is a little smidgeon of their self hung out to dry. And I think it's both awkwardly revealing, and shockingly flattering to be singled out for something so indicative of one's inner self.