Rationally, I know life isn’t a lookbook. I understand when I buy into Comme‘s enigmatic philosophy, or the caramel minimalism at Studio Nicholson, it’s not going to radically alter my day-to-day. But I can’t help being disappointed when it doesn’t.
I’m a romantic (read sucker) when it comes to such things. Why, I wonder, when I’m wearing magnificently generous Nicholson trousers, can my odious neighbour still disturb my peace with his boil-in-the-bag house music? How come the pressures of my day job are causing my mind to boil over and my teeth to constantly clench even though I’m taking my Zoom calls in a superfly mix of EG, Sasquatchfabrix and White Mountaineering?
Lookbook models never look disgruntled by Ocado substitutions, or irked that they can’t get a seat outside a cafe, or so ruinously hungover that they lie frozen with anxiety by the realisation they’re just another untalented pseud.
Which begs the question, why do I keep falling for it?
And here I go again. Falling like a drop of artisanal ketchup onto a pair of pristine easy pants.
The rotating shirt at the top of the page is by Sacai. It costs just under one million pounds.
Menswear appears to have reached the point where to suggest making a shirt made from just one fabric would get you laughed out the salon. So yes, here’s another shirt with two fabrics on the body and some knitted cuffs to get the tally up to three. I feel like, these days, if your shirt features less than three different fabrics on it you’re not just a loser, but the kind of pointless wastrel who spends their days grunting in the garden until it looks like a cross between The Good Life and Tina Turner’s Thunderdome, while subjecting everyone around you to loud, algorithmically selected, piss-house. Apologies, that’s my neighbour again.
Anyway, it’s a looker. Personally I’d go for the blue stripe. But the olive and navy has its own utilitarian charm. It’s available in black too, but, you know, why would you?
Against my better judgement, I have strong belief that this shirt would make everything okay. The underarm panelling, the huge side pockets… how could it not? Once more my levelheadedness has become wonky. Surely my life would slot into a lookbook-like place wearing this? Everyone would kowtow to my inarguable sense of style, unlocking nice sunny seats outside cafes and intimidating my next door ogre into keeping his nasty music to himself. This shirt can do this. It must do this. I’ve got to believe in something.