Bibliotheca: Mirror

It's Bibliotheca time! Between High Holy Days and various October occurrences, I've been forgetting to blog; that's on me, and I'm now going to budget time for it just like how I budget time for appeasing the Duolingo owl's endless hunger. 

For the post of mirrors, I'm reflecting on lolita's role as what I'm calling a "documentary fashion". I'm not sure whether or where I've heard this term before, but if the (chunky-soled, bow-festooned) shoe fits, we might as well strap in. 

By documentary fashion, I mean a fashion in which being seen and documented is an essential part of the fashion. I feel like many fashions in this pandemic-colored world have turned more documentary: rather than experiencing fashion primarily by wearing it, people learned to enjoy documenting their own fashion and viewing such documentation online. Lolitas have been doing this forever, but the inability to gather in person in 2020 and beyond only strengthened our collective commitment to documenting the fashion.

The primary form of documenting fashion is individual-- from mirror selfies to full-blown photoshoots, pretty much every person who takes a fashion semi-seriously has some sort of record of the individual outfits they put together. Outside of lolita, I see this mostly in the form of visual social media posts, but lolitas often add textual elements as well. There's also brand-level and retail-level documentation, in the form of stock photography, brand photoshoots, and advertisements. 

Where lolitas really excel is in our commitment to detailed textual documentation and public archiving, i.e., Lolibrary. I don't know of any other complete, accessible, free-to-use, community archive that seeks to document every single release related to a given hobby. Moreover, there's no sense of exclusivity about lolita knowledge-- when a lolita is asked what they're wearing in a lolita space, they almost answer with brand, release name, release year, often adding price, condition, sizing, and textile information as well. In addition, not only do the vast majority of lolitas I know maintain some form of digital records for their personal wardrobe, but those records are shared, compared, and improved through collective discussion-- secrecy is immaterial compared to a really good wardrobe spreadsheet template. 

So, clearly, lolitas document, and really thoroughly at that. But this documentation isn't a passive process-- it's in active dialogue with the fashion. 

New lolitas often don't have a local comm-- they start out in online, beginner friendly spaces (such as BSOLF or beginner discord servers). One of the quickest ways to build experience and a reputation within these spaces is by posting outfits for advice, which act as both proof of participation and a starting point for collective critique. By posting outfits for constructive criticism, the documentation turns into an opening statement in a dialogue with the community-at-large: these lolitas are speaking without words, identifying themselves as wearers and learners. Sometimes, after receiving advice, people will change their coordinates and repost them-- the documentation has informed the behavior which leads to further documentation. This is a really cool as a way to build relationships as well as familiarity with the fashion. 

Another role of documentation is as vintage inspiration. When people in other fashions get inspo from the past, they're often relying on magazine advertisements, carefully-styled fictional characters, and the occasional candid. By contrast, FRUITS-style street snaps and the prevalence of blogs mean that we as lolitas and J-fashion fans more generally can get closer to an accurate memory. This doesn't mean we don't coat the past in nostalgia, but that lolitas who look for authenticity can create it in a more personal, realistic way compared to people who find their inspo on the red carpets of celebrity award shows past. It does feel a little weird to see people celebrating old posts by actual alive regular lolitas as old school inspo, but that's coming from me, a lolita who thinks of myself as an entry level lolita with 10 years of experience. I try not to say anything online about old posts or images that I wouldn't say to that person's face because the people behind the screens are real. 

Documentation is the mirror that holds the past, whether it's your own or those of other lolitas. But just like any hall of mirrors, our documentation distorts what we see. Obviously, Photoshop and other editing software gives us an unrealistic picture of the faces and bodies of lolitas, especially when done subtly enough to disguise the editing. Even when the photos are as realistic as possible, though, archival bias (that tendency to only keep things we feel are worth keep) means a truly accurate documentation of a lolita is almost never found. I photograph most of my coordinates for meets, but only some of the simpler outfits I wear for weekend errands, and I almost never leave evidence of the casual punk clothes that I throw on between naps and chores. 

So there are distortions in the glass of our  documentary mirrors, but is this really a problem? I used to think so. After all, my own understanding of lolita as the curated near-perfection of convention coordinates and brand advertisements made me feel guilty as a beginner for not living up to my own expectations. 

The fact is, though, that any archive is going to be somewhat unrealistic-- the lived experience of wearing lolita, from the swish of the petticoat to the weight of the jewelry to the looks on other people's faces, that's not something that can be captured in a photograph or a blog or even a really good video. Documentation is part of this hobby, but producing it is not essential; someone can be equally involved in lolita through texting their lolita friends, or planning events, or just spending way too much money to look like the hottest Victorian doll in the Target deodorant aisle. 

Really, documentation has two aspects: creation and consumption. Some people find meaning and joy in the act of recording their lolita lives. Personally, photographing coordinates is a pain in the ass for me; just like Abraham Lincoln, I need to be seen in person to be truly believed. Blogging is my personal favorite way to leave a record, but it's far from the only one.  

Once documentation is made, then it waits for a reader or a viewer, who turns the pixels back into coherent images, creating meaning for themselves. Without a viewer, these things may as well not exist. Even if someone is looking at their own pictures, the distance of time differentiates interpretation from experience. Meaning doesn't exist apart from a person: we have to make it ourselves. 

Really, even though lolita has a strong documentary culture, it's up to the individual whether they personally feel that leaving documentation behind them is a meaningful process. Whether someone takes ten thousand selfies, gets a million views, writes a cute journal entry, or makes a kawaii conspiracy board with a whole spool of pink string, there's no wrong way to make lolita memories real.