It‘s a cold Thursday night in central Reykjavik. The Moon peeks it head through the clouds casting some light on the road ahead. Turning a corner I can hear the concert has started and in a luring way the colourful house that is Faktorý opens it embrace with promises of warmth from the cold, a golden liquid and a hunting melody. As I enter the bartender gives a gentle nod and then looks up the stairs, he knows why I’m there. I walk up the stairs and a gust of wind greets me filled with the smell of sweat and beer. The place is packed.
A corner has been dedicated to the coats of hot concert guest and although it mostly consists of black windbreakers and leather jackets there is an occasional fur coat or colourful jacket. Thinking about people spilling beer on my jacket and thus having to smell like a brewery in class the day after didn’t sound too appealing. So I snaked it through the strap of my purse, an option some of the guests had also chosen.
I look around and most of the concert guests are in their own worlds swaying to the music. There is no glitter, there are no neon colours. The clothes are based on the concept of back to basic. There are few who wear dresses and I get the distinct impression that jeggins seem to be a girl’s best friend.
Cardigans, sweaters, shirts and t-shirt’s worn by the concert guests all share the fact that they do not scream for attention, there are no pink or bright colors but you can see some white. The white clothes are mainly T-shirts and you get the feeling that they were supposed to be under another layer, not to be worn alone but rather a part of the whole. The humid heat made even thinking about layers of clothes seem unbearable.
Combat boots, chunky heels and sneakers smack the wooden floor as if they are begging to dance the night away but have to stick to the swaying rhythm and limited floor space. Occasionally a hand raises up from the crowd wanting to free itself from the limitations and awkwardness of dawdling in front of someone’s butt, or worse crotch. As they break away from the crowed the light catches the flicker of golden and silver rings and bracelets. When they sparkle I notice that I’ve seen most of them in Primark and H&M before, come to think of it I’ve seen all of them and even own a couple just like them. They are not all from those stores, some are part of the Icelandic design but those are very few. The same goes for the necklaces and even the scarves and hats are noticeably from H&M and Primark. As the concert ends I walk out in a daze.
My head feels heavy with thoughts and at that moment snowflakes start falling from the sky as if they are trying to cool my head. My chunky heels leave footprints in the snow as I wrap my coater tighter around me and thank the universe for creating a world where it is acceptable for me to wear jeggins to a concert.
But the universe has nothing to do with it.
We created a world where women are allowed to wear pants to a concert.
As I come home and look in the mirror I realize that my style of clothing, isn’t mine at all. My Primark necklace and chunky heels, the jeggings and blue cardigan, the white tank top and grey coat, I looked just like everybody else. I was the Zeitgeist.
Looking at videos from the concerts I went to, can you see me? I can’t. I am just like everybody else. but then does anybody stand out?
Looking past the musicians, are there any bohemian elements you see from the concert guests?https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tVmhZa93INc
I’m not so sure.
I wish I could blame the bloggers.
That they poison us and influence us into these uniforms so no one stands out. But they don’t.
They are a part of us just like we are parts of them. We create, and are, the culture. Maybe they just show us it in written form and with pictures?
Maybe I just see the Verfallung right now, the sameness of us all. But that must mean that individuality will rise again. Seeing as it works like a see-saw. Right?…. maybe I’ll wear my TMNT PJ’s and crazy cat sweater to school tomorrow so I’m reminded of my individuality. Just in case.