Everything else: second hand
I’m currently reading Anaïs Nin’s journals and after being a bit sceptic at first, I am becoming increasingly intrigued by Nin. Her writing sometimes seemed overly embellished (though that’s not the right word, maybe ‘pretty’ is?) and occasionally false to me, but after fifty odd pages I started realising that’s exactly what typifies Anaïs Nin’s character, she wants to please so much. She does it by sensuous movements, luscious perfumes and beautiful dresses, gloves, hats, shoes… She seduces and so do her words. Her writing style echoes her person, or rather the persona she has created, which cracks sometimes and shows her unbelievable emotional sensitivity and eventually her own insecurities.
In the book, she meets June Miller who comes up with elaborate lies about everything, Anaïs gets intrigued first by her beauty then why June lies so much. She realises that June lies to veil her extreme sensitivity, she does it because she lives in her own dreams. They bond. They even seem in love, but it’s not a sexual love (though it is sensual) it’s a womanly admiring love (my favourite), an extremely sensitive love. Every touch, a little movement at the corner of their mouth, all little winces they seem to grasp immediately of another. They laugh with Henry Miller’s emotional insensitivity. Reading this, it makes me feel obtuse for not being so sensitive to people’s emotional expression, and ultimately sad for not being like them. It sounds so beautiful. I’m only 100 pages in.
But I guess what makes attracts me so much to Anaïs is that her dream-like state mirrors my own, and this sentiment:
I have always been tormented by the image of multiplicity of selves. Some days I call it richness, and other days I see it as a disease, a proliferation as dangerous as cancer. My first concept about people around me was that all of them were coordinated into a WHOLE, whereas I was made up of a multitude of selves, of fragments.
Regarding clothing I definitely feel the same, I’m unsure whether I feel the same for my personality as well but maybe my doubting of that same sentiment might mean that I maybe I do, but maybe I don’t. Maybe this maybying signifies exactly that I do. Maybe it doesn’t. But it definitely intrigues me.
Anyway, I unconsciously matched my outfit with the book cover (yellow, pink).