One dress for one life


I don’t think that we have that word in English that evokes apathy, ignorance and greed as  complicity in murder. I’m not sure this English speaking country even recognizes this idea.

We are a self-determined people. We are bathed in liberty. We self-destruct, we self-correct. We fall and then we get up. We pick our future the way we pick out dresses; some hemming and hawing and then going with the sexy choice.

And so I need someone to explain to me how a person so awash in freedom as the 21st century-liberated, university degreed, zesty budding professional, American female I identify as can have no tools of recourse, no medicines of reconciliation, no balms for third world suffering, no answer to the quagmire that the same individual who bought forty-odd dresses over past six years sold her soul to a murderous ideology of “looking good for a low price.”

Yes, I was at Forever 21 yesterday and I still do.

Freedom can’t be just defined as my right to bear and buy arms without a background check or pen furious tweets and letters to the editor about those who do. It’s not just checking all the bureaucratic curiosities on a form to start my small business or changing my residence four times in a quarter and never telling Uncle Sam. Individual actions in relation to a government? Let’s all collectively scoff–freedom, you shall not be limited to an act of individual expression.

There is that liberty that I want and it’s the ability to jettison these systematic strangleholds that offer me a strange and fatal bargain:

“Donning this garment on the cheap will adorn you irresistible vitality and may or may not affect that of seamstress who created it. You accept an exchange rate of one dress for one life.”


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