Everyone speaks and remembers the legend of Coco Chanel as the great women, the notion of female success. The legend describes a Coco who ran away from the province, at 16 years of age, in the name of love, than worked hard, was talented and succeeded. If she could,so could you and so can I, a hundred and one girl thinks. We look up to her, and fight to achieve the dream career and simultaniousley search for true love, no compromises, with somone genious, wonderful, to love and lust for.
However the Coco wrote her own legend.Winnners always write histroy books .When speaking to firends and biographers, Coco used to deliberately entangle her own history, inventing always a more fantastic version and plagiarising incidents from novels and books which she claimed to be her own. She had been everything from a horse trainer, to a singer, dancer, nun, cared for daughter as well as an orphan, and the embodiment of love at first sight which had instantley resurected her form country life.
But actually Channel was a big tart. She socialised with tarts and prostitutes, who tutored her, with whom she romanced, and through who she entered the company of wealthy men who kept her. It was not seouly through the work and talent that she came to be known. Having lived in Paris for years, and nearing her thirties, she started making the hats which we thoguht was the begging of the story, whilst two men paid for her living expences and the first hat shop. She was an expensive cocote, and when her lovers died being much older, she became wealthy, expanded busines, and as such became a legend and an example of an independant women.
I am just reading last of several books about her and adding them up am realising how Coco Channel would not have succeeded in anything had it not been for the old sleeazes. Disappointingly typical, again the same old , hopeless story, of a female idol who was just another lucrative saleswoman of herself.
But then you stop and realize, witohut resorting to that system, insted working hard on the thing I belive in with my own means, I suppose actually I am doing better, as are a lot of women out there, who are as yet not aware of it. I am certian there exists hope for us realising our ambitions, truly independantley , despite having grown up with idols who's sucess depended on the dead body of a lover-grampa.
Imagine you and I are having coffee together in the sun. We would tell one another other stories. Have giggles. Most stories here are observations and accounts of certian bemusing events in the days of an artist. Events I wish to remember and think may amuse you too. The illustrations I drew. The protagonists are real. Should you have a coffee time story to share, write it back to me.Now if you are ready for a break, get a coffee, draw a chair, let me tell you what happened the other day :
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