Yesterday I visited the Goodhood Yard Sale. The selection was pretty measly, I should have walked away. Yet I managed to come away with a pair of absurd Suicoke leopard print sandals and a Nicholas Daley top that makes me look like an athletic Jesus. I think I’ve got a problem.
If I’m honest with myself, I’m most comfortable (both physically and emotionally) in a head-to-toe uniform of baggy navy separates. So why do I keep buying stupid shit?
I’m sure my age has something to do with it. I’m as ‘late 40s’ as it’s possible to be before not being in your 40s. It’s a fact that weighs heavy. What business have I with fur-lined animal print sandals? Why buy a giant cream top with three-quarter length sleeves? When people look at me what do they think? Interesting looking guy, or bejazzled loser? Instagram doesn’t help. I like to consider myself immune to the influence of others, of brands’ brazen invasions into my digital space. Rationally however, I know I’m as susceptible as everyone else. I’m not a cool Japanese eco-architect with a world-class collection of rare cactuses. I’m an oik from the Midlands with ideas above his station. I know this. So why do I insist on dressing in things that are too big, too weird, too leopardy?
Maybe I should cool my jets. Get back to basics. Focus on stuff that’ll definitely work, stuff that can’t go wrong. This top from *A VONTADE is a perfect example. Unfussy, neat and practical; this isn’t going to throw any dynamite into the hen house. Good fabric though and those side pockets add just enough detail to elevate it above high-street pretenders. No one will laugh at you in this. Equally no one will know where you bought it. I should probably stick to stuff like this in future.
I haven’t worn my new purchases out yet, but I can already sense mainstream society’s judgement. I sometimes feel like some of the dafter stuff I wear makes me like the Leave supporter in your timeline. At first glance you assume sarcasm. Then, as the uncomfortable truth becomes clear, you feel exasperation, followed by a creeping sense of sadness.