So, it is that time of year when I tend to take stock of my blogging activities and realize that said activities are kind of diffuse and purposeless and all over the place, and that I still haven’t figured out how to become a millionaire by blogging, which obviously is the entire point of blogging, right?  So, I’ve decided to start a project on this blog, on one hand to give it some structure, and on the other hand, to force me to do more (non-academic) writing.  It’s a project that combines the two things I spend the majority of my time doing, namely:  thinking about music and looking at pictures of vintage dresses on the internets.  And here’s what I’m going to do:  Every Monday and Friday, I’m going to pick a song that I think is interesting for some reason.  And I’m going to pair each song with a dress that matches the song, so, like, the ideal dress to wear while listening and/or dancing to the song in question. Mostly they’ll be vintage dresses (but they won’t all be, because I already know what Friday’s dress will be, and it’s a new dress but kinda vintage looking), and they’ll all be dresses you can get from independent, lady-owned businesses, because I think we need to be supporting independent, lady-owned businesses.  Occasionally, I may also regale you with a dress from my rather large closet of Far Too Many Dresses.

Which brings up a rather troubling point:  I own Far Too Many Dresses, and have thus declared a state of No Buying Clothes, which is going to last until Christmas, I swear to god, because I recently had the idea that maybe I should save some of my paycheque with an eye towards buying something like, say, a car, after I finish my Ph.D. rather than just blowing it all at the Fairfax Trading Post every Sunday.  So this will be a challenging project, because I will be forbidden from actually buying any fabulous dresses.

So anyhow.  This project is officially starting now.  And I’m starting with a trip in the wayback machine, to when I was but a wee lass, only just fourteen years old.  As a wee lass, only just fourteen years old, my heart burned burned with unquenchable ardour for the music of one Bif Naked.    And I was recently reacquainted with said ardour when I was at home, organizing the giant Rubbermaid tubs filled with my stuff, that live in my parents’ basement, one of which contained all of my old CDs, which I subsequently put on my ipod, because, as a musicologist, I insist on carrying Every Song, Ever around with me in digital form, just in case of an emergency where I might need Some Song I Haven’t Listened To in Ten Years.  And that is how, friends, I found myself on an airplane, three hours away from Los Angeles, having watched all of the available episodes of Summer Heights High that were on the in-flight entertainment system (aka tiny television set that hurts your eyes) listening to Spaceman on repeat.

You know, there was a time in my life when this song was the awesomest thing in the world.  Then somewhere along the line, I discovered Sonic Youth and the Velvet Underground and became pretentious.  But more and more I have been turning back the clock to my non-pretentious years, because things were a lot more fun back then.  So the upshot of this is that everything that was awesome when I was 14 is awesome again, and is allowed to happily co-exist with everything that was awesome and pretentious when I was 19, which is in turn allowed to co-exist with everything I think is awesome now (ie: Dusty Springfield, The Shangri-Las, Frankie and Annette movies), resulting in a juggernaut of awesome.

And let’s just talk about that Spaceman video for a second.  First of all, I had forgotten that Bif Naked manages to channel both Cher and Elvira, Mistress of the Dark, while wearing a suit jacket made out of plastic wrap raincoat and somehow not even breaking a sweat.  That, my friends is talent.  Or something.  I also appreciate how she totally owns that matte brick red lipstick, and seems unashamed of the fact that the set of the video is the Canadian poor woman’s version of the set of Scream.

And I really truly love this song, mostly because it is about space and is basically told from the point of view of an X-Files extra.  This song was actually pretty important to me when I was 14 and living in shitty old Port Elgin.  It’s so quintessentially representative of that particular moment in the 1990s, when the X-Files was really good, and there was that television special about Roswell that my dad wouldn’t let me watch, and I saw the movie Contact and decided to be an astronomer when I grew up, and my favourite shirt was a baby tee with a green alien face on the front, which I would wear with Mod Robes, because, lo, I had style.  I kind of wonder about that particular cultural moment – because it wasn’t just me that was into aliens, it was kind of a zeitgeisty thing, and I wonder what sort of social and cultural impulses the alien abduction thing was responding to at that particular time.  It’s part of a aesthetic of escapism and exploration and wonder, and, as this song pretty clearly indicates, deep dissatisfaction and longing.

Of course, the question on everybody’s mind is:  when a spaceman comes to rescue me from my deep dissatisfaction, what on earth shall I wear?

Pair this dress:

(from LouLou’s Vintage, on Etsy)

With these boots:

(from LorrelMae, also on Etsy)

It’s, like, perfect Barbarella-inspired mod 1960s but would probably also fit in pretty well at a rather unfortunate 1990s rave, so that’s my pick for listening to Bif Naked and dreaming about outer space.

Or, pile your hair up on your head, spray paint it purple and throw on this pointy-shouldered item and you will totally be channelling 1950’s pulp queen of outer space:

(from Posh Girl Vintage)

Alternatively, nothing says “Spaceman, Oh, Spaceman, Come rescue me from this (and also make me queen of your intergalactic empire)” like an op-art gown:

(from LuciteBox)