I know I can be prone to a mildly nihilistic outlook. But everywhere I turn these days, the spectre of tragedy is prodding me with his scythe.
One minute the world is going to burn, the next drown. Capitalism, it is broadly agreed, will be the death of us, which is apparently inconvenient as there are loads more NFTs to mint. A bag of crisps costs the same as a car. My corner shop is now offering an instalment plan on a loaf of Warburtons Seeded Batch. There are over 100,000 vacancies at the NHS. We’ve got Liz Truss and Ukraine and Pakistan and on top of it all NASA’s forgotten how to launch a rocket.
Even those at the top are hurting. Spare a thought for the gas and electric barons, you could get a nasty paper cut sorting through all those bin bags of cash.
I’m yet to figure out what role an individual motivated entirely by menswear should play in this apocalypse? When I’m being shot at by guerillas and my arm is on fire, does it matter if my Undercover tee is a couple of seasons old? Will Mr Porter‘s swimwear selection be more or less popular when half of London is underwater?
Typically at this point we’d get into some of the good the clothing industry is doing to stave off the inevitable; sustainable clothing, buy-back schemes, whatever ‘circularity’ means today. But as you’ve probably gathered from my use of the word ‘inevitable’, I genuinely think doom is inevitable. Bit of a pisser.
Sure, some lovely brands are working hard to decrease their footprint. But isn’t it just so predictable when giants like H&M are called out for bullshitting on their environmental scorecards. Bet you they won’t be the last. The greed, the lies, the evasion: so head-slappingly predictable. And that’s just clothing.
As a race of beings, we’re just not that smart. While we’re still fighting amongst ourselves over land, religion and profit, the chances of us ever moving up Kardashev’s civilisation scale seem absurdly slim. Environment, war, disease: we could bring any of these on ourselves and in doing so create our own Great Filter. Bish-bash-bosh, asshole smoothies all round.
It doesn’t even have to wipe us all out, just knock us back 500 years in our development. Have you any idea how to build a combustion engine from scratch? When’s the best time to plant wheat? Any clue how to make seawater drinkable?
Nah, whether it comes at the pointy end of one of Putin’s missiles, or through disease brought about by massive global migration, we are all buggered. It’s only the incumbents who say we’re not: the politicians, the business leaders, the bankers. But then, it’s in their interests to tell us everything’s fine. If they admitted the truth, bang goes their endless supply of diamond encrusted pork pies. New wind and solar plants already produce cheaper electricity than fossil fuels, so why aren’t we going all out to switch to them? Like today?
I’m not trying to sound like a simpleton, nor a foil-hatted conspiracy theorist, but there does seem to be a similarly between the end of days and Brexit. No one could come up with a positive for Brexit, but we (and by we I mean idiots) did it anyway. Today every (reputable) scientist agrees global warming of 2.5 degrees will be catastrophic, yet H&M is still heaving on a Saturday.
Obviously I have no solution. I’ve already said I think the human race is done. Where this leaves a man of clothes is anyone’s guess — prior to writing this I was thinking about buying a new watch, but now I’ve reminded myself of the times to come I’ve rather pissed on my own blancmange.
All I can offer by way of balm, are some photographs of me on a vaguely apocalyptic looking multi story roof. Yes, you are looking at a sanctimonious twat in a Comme des Garçons Homme blazer. A total hypocrite in new Uniform Bridge trousers. If nothing else, these images stand as testament to yet another nincompoop who did nothing except take pictures of himself as Thwaites Glacier inches closer to the sea.
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Blazer: Comme des Garçons Homme
Trousers: Uniform Bridge
Sneakers: Needles
Shirt: Comme des Garçons Homme Deux
Hat: Engineered Garments