20 September 2004
you can buy your friends
I prefer to do my own laundry. When other people put my clothes into the dryer, they shrink. When I put reds in with whites, I complain afterwards, but say, �hey, that shirt was getting old anyway.�
I wish I had an unlimited budget when it comes to clothing. It�s not that I�m interested in status symbols or even in looking perfect all the time. But some designers produce work that�s just so interesting that I wish I could hang it on the wall instead of in my closet. I want to wear their works of art, to take them off the wall or out of the closet and hang them on my body and have them make me perfect, thereby enhancing their exquisiteness with my newfound perfection.
I found a coat I coveted this Saturday. Dirk and I were out shopping for a chair for his new apartment. (I know, right: precious.) We went to fancy furniture stores where we lounged on all available chairs and couches and compared price tags and names I�d never heard of but that he recognized. (This happens when you date an architect/designer. He knows who all the Cool Kids are.)
Salesgirls wanting his wallet fawned over us, me reading artsy comic books and him flipping through stacks of books of chairs they�d set at his feet, offerings to the golden calves.
He decided on a chair his father already has, that he�s seen and sat on and in and upon most of his life. All other chairs, names and pricetags and salesgirls just fall short to that 1958 classic. It also has a fancy name, but no pricetag because if you have to ask---
We stopped by the hardware store on the way back for some nails for some shelves. I went up the street to visit the coat. I knew it would look amazing, not 785 euros worth of amazing (contrary to what the store owner thinks), but amazing nonetheless.
But I couldn�t wear it with anything but a black, white, or purple-blue scarf. So no neon orange, no olive, no fuscia.
So no go.
Therefore, not having an unlimited clothing budget is unimportant because the coat would hang forever on the wall or in the closet. Its perfection is its flaw. My wallet is mine. We are mismatched friends.
Besides, I already have an winter coat. It�s wool and black and I got it last year on sale. And it looks best on me, not in the closet and never on the wall. Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver, the other gold.
Dirk�s chair, however, will be perfect, as it always has been. And I�ll still do all my own laundry. Hang up the nice shirts. Don�t mix red towels with stripey white shirts. Stop lusting after Saturday coat.
betholindo at 12:32