GYPSY-GYPSY(!!!)PARIS-PARISA(!!!)

I have no air in my apartment, no fan in my room and it's hot outside. But I'm not complaining. Central Park is beautiful. Tourists are here. And I'm never home anyway--no wireless. So it's roaming for your friendly neighborhood virgin. I feel like a Bedouin woman and I look like one too (sometimes)--which causes some attention. But I'm accustomed to that as my American apparel is rarely found in stores--or put together like things approved my WWD or Elle or Vogue. So I don't mind when people make comments on what I wear--if something is strange--you notice, c'est la vie!
The Hebrew name Danielle means God is my judge ;) And in French it means the same...
That's my name.

But with that being said, we should really have "peace talks" in this city so that hurtful assumptions may be eradicated. We need to water the garden of understanding. Peace for peace of mind.

" Tolerance is the positive and

cordial effort to understand another's

beliefs, practices, and habits without

necessarily sharing or accepting them. "

- Joshua Loth Liebman

We should have old people sit down with young people. We should have Christians sit with Muslims. We should have the man who stood outside the window staring at me for five minutes while I took buns at Dragon Land Bakery in Chinatown sit down with me. Why, my Orthodox Jewish brother , stand outside, stare and assume when you can talk to me? Shalom! I'm friendly!
And I probably have just as many questions for you as you for me. So let's chat!
Sometimes I wear a keffiyeh. I do. I bought 3 of them from an African man on 1rst Avenue a long time ago for the same reason people buy pants at Brooks Brothers or Forever 21. The

pictures are all of Bedouins.

Note: Yasser Arafat was not the first to don a keffiyeh and I do not support terrorism. But I do support quality. My كوفيات are better quality than what you find ala retail stands on the streets of NYC today. And guess what, that authenticity is keeping my head cool--soaking up sweat and providing me with a look of which I approve.
Hate the hattah.
Love the virgin.

Last summer a guy yelled "Parisa, Parisa Gypsy Gypsy!!" I didn't know what he was saying.

The person with me said, "I think that he's calling you a French gypsy!"

Later my mother said, "A gypsy--oh my, what were you wearing..."

Note my mother is rarely in kind when it comes to her daughter's attire. And she really isn't a fan of the times that I cover my head. Tis why I've stopped explaining my "fashion."

Please, reference THE WAR ON WARDROBE.

In the words of that Reebok campaign, I AM WHAT I AM!
With that being said, I'm off to write an apology to Ms. Michelle Malkin before this blog is pulled!