Ah... fashionista

I love fashion. The idea of putting together different articles to create an ensemble that embodies a certain style. I may not always follow the styles dictated by the much-lauded mega designers enthroned in Paris, Milan or New York.

And it doesn't mean that I don't monitor the trend du jour issued by fashion houses. I love to marvel at the haute-couture pieces, gush over the season's items, and often even plan to starve myself in order to afford them. Especially things from Marc Jacobs; I mean, the man is a god.

But most of the time, I do interpretations of the current trends, picking what flatters me the most, and trying to be creative with what I already have. The last step often fails, not because of my space-challenged closet, but simply because I can't resist the temptation of adding a splash or two from the latest arrivals in the stores. But hey, everybody has a vice.

And for that very vice, some friends have decided to call me a fashionista. The word, I believe, was initially used to describe an uber-stylish woman, but now loosely applied to any woman bedecked from head-to-toe in recognized labels of the latest fashions 24/7, regardless whether or not the entire ensemble constitutes a tasteful style. I don't know if I should be flattered at all.

Most so-called fashionistas, who shall remain nameless, receive kudos for always looking fabulous in the latest fashions, which on their well-proportioned bodies look even more fabulous. Some of them are movie stars supported by stylists and often free-flowing wardrobes. Others are privileged debutantes and socialites supported by free-flowing trust funds. Gathering the most beautiful clothes and looking the part are not overly inconceivable. Do they inspire other women? Sadly, they often do.

But there are certain fashion icons that were heralded simply because, in their attempt to make do with the situation, or conceal flaws, they stood out from the crowd and set a trend.

The orphaned Coco Chanel was schooled in a convent, surrounded by nuns wearing stark black habits with white linings. From there came the crisp white collars and, what later became a staple of every self-respecting woman, the little black dress.

Years of horseback riding gave boyish-figured Jackie Kennedy strong legs and toned arms. So went the sleeveless A-line mini dresses, showcasing the arms and legs while creating an illusion of curves.

Audrey Hepburn was considered too petite for the typical '50s voluptuous pin-ups. She diverted attention from her less-endowed bosom by wearing black turtleneck to show-off her swan-like neck, and waist-cinching wide belt to define a curve.

Meanwhile, Jennifer Lopez is deemed too curvy for today's ever-shrinking Hollywood standard. Instead of hiding it, J.Lo flaunts her derriere in such a way that makes all bottom-heavy women, myself included, take pride in our assets and to shelve plans for plastic surgery.

These women looked into themselves and cultivated a look that was distinctively theirs. Yes, with the exception of Coco who was a designer herself, they still got some assistance. Jackie had Oleg Cassini, and Audrey had Givenchy. J.Lo has got help from many major designers, and became one herself recently. It's perfectly okay to get assistance, but these women aren't just passive receivers. They turned around what were considered flaws by the prevailing standard, to become the new standard. To me, that's what a real, inspiring fashionista is.

I'm far from being one. At the moment, I'm too busy hunting those curve-friendly, hip-hugging, bootleg, velour track pants from J.Lo's new fashion line. I heard its generous cut makes the pear-shaped look positively ... bootylicious.

Miss Sissy