Yesterday I caught an episode of First Dates Hotel. It struck me that beyond the regional-disco wardrobes and reliable howls of laugher anytime someone orders a Sex on the Beach, many of the contestants appeared to be preoccupied with the idea of ‘realness’.
“I won’t date anyone who isn’t real”, they all say. “Being real is the most important thing”. “A relationship’s got to be based in realness”. And on and on and on…
Consequently I imagine I’d do quite well on the show. Because to the best of my knowledge I am real. I’m really sitting here typing and I’m really drinking some lukewarm Nescafe. Ontological debate aside, I’m as real as anyone else. But so is everyone else.
It is therefore my view that in the context of First Dates Hotel, realness doesn’t mean realness at all. It means honesty and trust. I wonder why Fred has never bothered to point this out?
Anyway, I’m going to stick by my guns and suggest that the fleeces at the top of the page are real. Perhaps for some, a bit too real. We’re talking Martine Rose. We’re talking 100% polyester. We’re talking about dressing like the furnishings in a palliative care ward. Flowers don’t get more flowery than this. But then they’re also weirdly anaemic. Kind of washed out, like a Cannon and Ball annual in an Oxfam window.
Too real for you? We’ve all had a dabble with Engineered Garments florals at some point, but this is some dirty street business. Bold as balls, but oddly pallid. It reminds me of the time a girl told me I was ‘sexy ugly’, right before having a wrestle with my younger brother. I’ve never quite got over it.
You can grab one of these in black, purple and blue or orange, pink and light blue over at everyone’s favourite menswear megalith End Clothing. I reckon thumbed under a baggy blazer either of these could work. Very streetwear. And, as far as I’m concerned, as real as real gets.