ANOTHER Fashion Week is upon us. I could’ve sworn we just celebrated something similar earlier this year, but then again, with my ‘filing system’ anything is possible.

Yes, as chakka chakka as I may sometimes appear to the untrained eye, I too have a system. You see, I learned a long time ago that very few things in life really matter. I’ve studied, travelled, met some interesting characters and when I look deeply into myself and holler out ‘self’ and the echo resounds throughout my shell, I realise that my family and my spiritual, physical and financial well-being are all that will remain with me when things start going to hell in a hand basket. And believe me, with my impulsive behaviour, things can go south at any minute.

I have therefore conjured up a system called ‘download and delete’ which is pretty self-explanatory. All this information I receive on a daily basis is sorted in two bins — useful and useless. Useless is immediately dumped, whilst those files labelled useful are sorted further and only matters relevant to the existence of me and my immediate family are kept upfront, everything else is stored in a file 13 that I have to dig through, if and when I might ever require such info, which I rarely do.

More power to the people who can recall licence plate numbers of people they only just met at a party, I have to glance at my plates to see what they say, because to me… it’s not that important. Children, please don’t try this at home, you still have to retain stuff for exams and what not.

Anyway, back to Fashion Week. I have said in my naivety that the only people that fashion matters to are the people directly involved in the fashion industry and the people who want to appear ‘in the know’. I am in neither category so I really could care zero what the ‘beautiful’ people are wearing or suggesting should be worn in upcoming seasons.

My mumma always told me ‘don’t watch Mary Jane and her three pretty dresses, you don’t know what she did to get them’. My siblings and I were brought up to care our timeless pieces of clothing (timeless because they lasted season to season) and wear them with head held high, no matter what the crowd was swagging in. That has stuck with me to this day, in that I simply refuse to wear what everyone else is wearing, unless I can’t do better.

I want to stand out, I want to look different. After a nuh school uniform! Even my school uniform looked different from all the other girls’ at school. I can strut, not like the ladies at Pulse, but I have my own super ‘maggle’ sashay that I whip out when I’m about to enter a party in the clothes I bought downtown and altered. Oh yes! I bring it!

I do hope that the local fashion designers, instead of just showcasing their handiwork, get some lucrative contracts arising from the exposure.

After all, some little girl or boy who decided to be different and not run with the pack is usually the person in charge of telling us what is trendy, so who knows… my style may not be outdated, it just hasn’t been brought to your attention as yet.

Those of you looking forward to the pomp and pageantry, please enjoy the thrills of watching size 2 ladies and men with irregular facial characteristics sauntering on the runway in clothes they must return. I will be busting my hump in the gym trying to get to a size 14 and hopefully make it to the runway in the next three years as a plus-size, full-figured fashion model.

Remember folks, being fashionable is all about wearing what you have with a lot of style and grace. Stay dry and love your loved ones. @elvaJamaica on Twitter or elvachatalot@yahoo.com