Morphologies

October... the most transitional of months. Home to Halloween, Samhain, whatever you choose to call it, and the beginning of cold, cold, cold. We begin to contemplate the blustery winter, and the new year and what it may bring. We switch out our camisoles for acrylic sweaters and fleece-lined tights. The leaves are dying, falling, and leaving their bare trees behind like skeletal hands, but we think it's beautiful. I love this time of year. It's just that little bit... spookier.

After spending the year trying to grasp onto, prolong, or reclaim our youth and vitality, we proceed to take a month to indulge in all that is lost or is to become lost. Celebrate death and the macabre, decorate our homes with pseudo souvenirs of all we deem unredeemable. Purge the unholy.

We say goodbye to our contour kits, hair glosses and Spanx and make our faces up to look pale and scarred. We no longer want to look youthful, but as close to death and beyond as we can. Those whom we once burned at stake, we pay to be in pounds and pennies. That which we fear becomes a welcome reality and we imitate it, and we invite a little bit of it into our homes.

We take down our comfortable fairy lights and family photos, and replace them with gauzy cobwebs and witch hats and severed hands.We strip ourselves of our polished identities, our manners, our fear of offending. No longer aiming to please, we aim to terrify. What a strange holiday this is.

Wren.

dress: missguided

necklace: topshop