This is seriously my favorite outfit ever in all my four laborious years of blogging. I've had this Vertigo Paris jacket for ages, always promising to save it for that perfect occasion when it would be perfectly appreciated. I wore it to have my portrait taken for a New York Times style profile penned about me in 2011, so it's been immortalized in print, albeit not as perfectly styled as it is today. So what's the occasion this time? Absolutely none. I realize now that I wait for gratification that cannot come by virtue of it being anticipated. The only gratification is the surprise, which I will never know, and around which I have deliberately constructed my life to avoid. No expectations, but also no surprises. Listless plateaus, mood stabilizers, comfort.
It'd be an obvious fallacy to posit that I'm wearing this arresting outfit for myself and no one else, that I don't care about my jacket being 'perfectly appreciated' this time. Of course I care, it's on my blog. It's on my instagram. I want other people to look at it. But there's no way for me to measure whether or not it's being enjoyed by others. I can only measure whether or not people are looking at it. So I sojourn in the solace of temporary gaze.
This look reminds me of the jarring maximalist style of 1980s cheeky hyperconsumerism. Pastel, pattern crazed, checked and adorned in gold. If I only had the means to dress like this every day...
"The grand style of the age is always located in what is oriented by the obvious and secret necessity of revolution."