A fish is a fish is a fish

From time to time, I have the inexplicable urge to fall head over heels in love with something.  When I was sixteen years old, it was Marilyn Monroe.  The tragedies and the heartbreak all woven into a delicate starlet’s melancholy beauty.  Then came my college years and it was nothing but punk rock and three barre chords on a Gibson SG.  When the studded belts finally left my closet, I became obsessed with the litheness of ballerinas.  Pirouettes, demi-plies, and pointe shoes danced all over my heart.  Bike-riding, card-playing, Cesar the dog-whisperer, the Mexican Riviera, and french pastries slowly morphed into just times and places:  Newfoundland, Juneau, the Roaring Twenties, Newport, Montreal, the early 1960s, Portland, Maine

And then I realized what most of my place obsessions have in common – they’re all historical fishing villages!  So on top of deciding that I must’ve been a gypsy fisherman (pirate?!) in my past life, I now know that I simply cannot live in a place that doesn’t have that small town charm, sea banging against the cliffs, shipwrecks, cod fishing disasters, a local dialect, brightly painted clapboard houses, mist and fog, a lighthouse and boat horns, a local microbrew, and oysters on the half-shell with seaweed still clinging to them.

Before this starts reading like a Tumblr post, I’ll move on to the fashion of my sea-faring heroes – Here are some photos of gorgeously strong and sea water loving women in their salty wear, along with inspired couture:

April Volkey – hottest. fisherwoman. ever. –>

April Volkey

Give a [wo]man a fish and you feed [her] for a day. Teach a [wo]man to fish and you feed [her and the whole town] for a lifetime.



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