I'm pretty positive that anyone who has come into contact with me is aware of the fact that I am a Hello Kitty fanatic. In my undergrad course, Art and Cultural Criticism, I even conducted a study and presentation about the visual culture and identity politics of Hello Kitty (and made Kitty White a facebook page that I still update here and there, despite the fact that I took this course three years ago; friend her here). I don't mess around with the kawaii. . . ;) At any rate, along with my fascinations with the image of HK comes a love for ginormous bows. Liz has created the ultimate Big Bow Pencil skirt that is nothing less than perfection!! Check out her post!! This whimsy yet sophisticated skirt will be made and it will live in my closet!! Thank you, Liz!
I will leave you with a bit of joy which I found and incorporated into my presentation on HK. It is amazing. I hope you like it!
The first time I saw Hello Kitty, the temptress, was in 1982. She seduced me from my Japanese roommate's notebook, managing to get me to rush out and buy a yellow and pink Hello Kitty wallet. I preferred her right away to Minnie Mouse who wore a boxy red polka dot dress and way-too-big red pumps. Hello wore a jumper slipped over bare arms. It was a new wave frock, no doubt about it. Even her double set of whiskers seemed trendy, even her cone-shaped ears exuded cool. Even her poor excuse of a nose (yellow button boxed in a black circle) was fabulousness, pure girl-fun. Chinatown became the preferred shopping mall of the twenty-somethings concerned with Hello Kitty fashion. A yellow daisy sometimes graced Hello's bodice so she doubled as a 60's peacenik, a mammoth yet miniscule symbol, a kitsch-princess who stayed frog free. "You're putting too much on me," Hello Kitty might say, if she could slip out of feline city. "Try another temple," she might meow, her tiny voice raw and red.
But Hello doesn't have lips, those double delicious pink worms that girls paint red for special occasions. She can't yell if she's in trouble or kiss Mimi on her temple. Without a mouth, Kitty's not able to confess her secrets. But dissecting Hello is slippery business. Feminists surely prefer girls who are able to make noise, like me. But who knows? Monks might find Hello pure Zen, the way she smiles without teeth, going to and fro with Kitty purposefulness- content on pencil boxes and purses, holding her world together, managing to keep perfectly still. No slip of the tongue possible. Hello is manufactured in China, but she was conceived and born in London, much like a box of Cadbury chocolates. Post-Shirley Temple, Hello is a whole industry, frothy and competitive as shampoo or beer. -Denise Duhamel, Screaming Monkeys, pg. 244-245.
