Umm.......hello my lovely fashion homies. Here's what I'm thinking:
Fashion and tennis, don't they always go together? After all, it is a wide known fact that Anna WIntour has an obsession with Roger Federer stronger than her obsession with Manolo kitten heels, and aren't tennis players the only sports people deemed 'suitable' to be featured in Vogue and for fashion designers to work with (Can we have an amen for Stella McCartney up in here)? And isn't tennis the only sport that Vogue staffers play, that is, other than running down 10 blocks to catch the Marc Jacobs show after a Rodarte's? Also, as we go somewhere along the lines of Vogue, there's me, the fashion and tennis loving blogger who feels that he has an obligation to blog about his second love (insert some tiger woods joke here if you wish).
(Because I'm sure all you lovely people reading this would like a little tennis in your life, that's why I shall talk about the fuzzy yellow balls. Don't you all just love tennis, just don't you? There's no need to thank me. *SIMULTANEOUS HURRAYS!*)
Looking back, it really is weird on how something that I loved so much then (and am still loving it) has now been exiled into the deepest darkest pits of god-knows-where. Before Vogues and i-Ds started to dominate my life, I used to look forward to the monthly issues of TENNIS magazine, the same way as I look forward to the September issues. Sad to say, these glossy pages of forehand and backhands have now been sent into the bottomless pits of scrap and crap, along with past math worksheets and ugly fashion sketches that should never be shown to the world. Thankfully, tennis (the sport) wasn't as cruelly banished to death the same way TENNIS (the magazines) were.
Recently, I received tickets to the very first Youth Olympic Games (if you do not know what this is, you should feel very ashamed of yourself. I demand you to google/wikipedia it now.) from the very very amazing Dr Frank Cintamani (did I mention how amazing he is?). It was quite an awesome experience, getting up close to the players themselves, who one day might just be the next Sharapova or Federer. The level of tennis was, as expected, very high given that many of these young players are ranked in the top tens in the junior circuit. Sadly, all good things must come to an end, and I was cruelly expelled out of the grounds after the games ended. Even the incessant pleadings and my desperate offers to be a ball kid for the next five days (I would gladly do it for free) were not entertained.
As this post comes to an end, so has the games. Sigh, maybe when I turn 20 in 2014, I might just look back and remember the time that I carved "I heart YOG" on my school table. Should I cry, maybe I should?
The stalker in me:
The eventual ladies/girls champion
