I don’t know why, but over the past few months I’ve become a bit of a Clothes Person. I can’t explain it. After more than a quarter of a century not really giving much of a damn what I wore, I’ve started (gasp!) caring how I’m dressed. Actually, it’s been a fairly gradual thing, but it’s really hit since autumn. I am at a loss to explain it.
I even have a sort of philosophy of clothing. In my view, there’s no point following fashion. For starters, they keep changing the damn thing. Then there’s the fact that I am, not to beat around the bush, completely the wrong shape for fashion. Fashion is designed with skinny types in mind, and Christ knows I’m a long way from skinny.
Therefore, I tend to go for clothes that are eyecatching, but flattering. During the First and Second World Wars, it was common practice to paint ships as you see on the left, in what was known as “dazzle camouflage.” By covering the ship in different shapes and colours, it was hard for enemy gunners to make out where the vessel actually was. By the same token, I tend to go for clothes that catch and thus deceive the eye. A shirt, waistcoat, jacket and accessories, particularly if you’re careful to go with fairly muted colours and patterns, will hide a multitude of sins.
And in my experience, a unique get-up, provided you don’t just look stupid, is a fine way to break the ice at parties. I’ve met quite a few very interesting people at parties purely because they came up and asked me, e.g., where did I get my watch?
As you might have gathered, I tend to favour a slightly old-fashioned semi-formal get-up, because that suits me rather better than the standard shirt-and-trou party togs. Not quite period wear, you understand, but heading in that direction. I spend a lot of time looking at vintage stuff.
Anyway, this is a longwinded way of getting on to the actual point of this blentry (it’s a word I invented – “blog” + “entry” = “blentry,” I am so cool). Namely, that last week I bought some boots. I like my shoes, but the fact is that they aren’t going to stand pounding the streets for very long. I had a pair of brown Chelsea boots in mind, but while browsing through Pop Boutique in Seven Dials I came across a pair of brown zip-up boots that looked just the ticket. The size was right, they were only £25 and they were a perfect fit. Sold!
On Saturday I decided to wear them for the first time. I took a stroll down to the station, when this happened:
I should point out that the heel wasn’t completely off at that point. I figured that I wasn’t planning to walk very far, and I couldn’t be arsed to turn around. So I put up with it. I got to Waterloo, had a look around that bookshop I rather like, and then this happened:
I know, right? In less than twenty minutes total wear time, both boots were semi-soled. Lame, in the most literal sense. The worst part, though, was the knowledge that I would have to walk home like this, shuffling along with a sort of “fluppity-thud, fluppity-thud” noise. I’m effecting some home repairs in the hope of fixing them.
In other news
I thought I was being stalked by an emo kid today, but it turned out that I was just walking through an area with a lot of emo kids, and all emo kids look the same.