How long will I wish to be 41?

Going forward...

High hair pressure

I have to be one of the most obsessive people on the planet whether it’s concerning home design, fashion, organisation, functionality, or hair. Especially hair. And since I mentioned hair I might as well go on a rant.

I have spent the last 2 or 3 years growing my hair. I get a slight trim every two months or so but overall the growth has steadily been getting longer. Back at the end of July I finally decided to try another Keratin treatment to straighten out a lot of the curl and kink. 

I did this in September 2017 and was very happy with it for months. For 72 hours you can’t get your hair wet and it is outrageously straight during that time. Then after an initial rinse it curls again but they’re softer and looser and my hair becomes more wavy. After the 2017 session I would dry my hair wearing a beanie, which took about 6 hours, and then my hair was very much to my liking.  Sometimes it would straighten out considerably just from sleeping on it.

Something was different after this recent treatment. My hair is a lot longer now than it was in 2017. It was absurdly long during the 72 hours before I could rinse it. I decided that I would probably be happier if it was closer to the length it was two years ago.

Then I rinsed it. I have not been happy. What changed?

Sometimes it behaves exactly like it did before the Keratin treatment which of course causes me to wonder why I wasted the money. The hair is longer but I can’t attribute that to the cause. Women with even longer hair get the treatment and maintain perfectly straight hair with some effort I’m sure.

My hunch is a combo of things are the issue: length, products, and techniques. I’m using a completely different line of hair products now. I did try the flat iron — something I do not believe I was doing two years ago because I always feel like I’m damaging my hair, so I’m very reluctant to do it. But in a fit of desperation this time, I tried it and the results were horrendous. My hair looked dry, crispy and was not hanging straight at all. It was flaring out to the sides which gave me pyramid hair. I had to immediately wet it and go back to a natural curly look.

Since then I have been trying to decide the next steps. Do I cut it? Do I just let it hang curly and forget the $275 I spent trying to make it straighter?

These are difficult questions. The shorter I go the more insistent I am on straighter hair. In my opinion some of the worst haircuts I have ever had were short hair. I don’t mind shorter sides and in the back but I really need length on top because I like versatility.  Apparently I never made this clear to my stylist a few years ago when I was going shorter because she cut it short all over. The result was rather Julius Ceasaresque which is almost as hideous as the Mark Zuckerberg giving testimony before the US senate-look. I cannot go there. On the other hand, whatever I have ever said to a stylist about the look I want makes me wonder if they go momentarily deaf as soon as my mouth starts moving.

My curl pattern in the back is tight and hard to manage. On the top and sides it will often straighten effortlessly depending on products I’m using and weather. So there’s that problem: it’s like having two entirely different hair types on one head.

Leaving it long and curly is an option. As long as it just hangs it’s fine. Unfortunately there are issues. Sometimes it hangs but there are incredibly frizzy bits. Sometimes it looks clumpy and frizzy. And in the back it simply looks like an unruly wad of untameable shit.

Oh, I forgot to mention I’m that guy who has no patience for spending more than 5 minutes getting his hair right. The beanie drying method takes 6 hours but I’m not actually doing anything so that’s better than spending 20 minutes with a flat iron, blow dryer, or brush, in some utterly futile attempt to control this mane.

I am very picky about my hair and i’m not sure what the words are that I should use to describe how I want my hair to look. Smooth. Compact. Neat. I’m not sure. I like messy, I like bed hair, I like unruly, but it has to be controlled. There can be no roundness to my hair. No pyramid looks. No flaring. No clumps. No wiry frizz. And nothing that looks like I glued a mass of Spaghetti-Os on my head.

On my computer is a photo album labelled “Hair.” As you might guess, it contains many photos of hair I like as well as hair I detest. How hard can it be to get my hair looking even remotely like the group of photos I like as opposed to the group I classify as “NO” and I even added text to those photos with a blunt “NO” to make it very clear. 

I’ve probably looked at 50,000 photos of guys. Shit, that’s enough to turn a man gay. One thing is constant about these photos I have saved — the guys are about 16 years old on average. Perhaps that’s part of my problem. Am I miserable because I can’t get my hair to look like them or am I miserable because I won’t look like them even if I do succeed with my hair?

Feeling somewhat embarrassed for failing to take this into consideration, I have been searching “hairstyles for older men,” “hairstyles for older men with long hair.” etc. 

Fuck that shit. I’ve never been so disgusted in my life.

One thing is certain. I am not looking for a current trendy haircut. I’ve searched those as well. “50 Best Men’s Haircuts for 2019 (or 2018, or 2017)..it doesn’t matter. It is so rare if I see one I like. I’m not shaving the sides of my head and piling up this shit that’s left on top of my head like some tower. I’m not having anything carved or etched into the short hairs behind or over my ears.  And I’m not growing a goddamn hipster beard that collects little bits of avocado toast.

This is bullshit. I am so pissed.

I feel like I am no closer to a decision about length — short or long — than I was a week ago. And I have an appointment with my stylist in six days. I’m dragging out all kinds of products and I’ll try various combinations of things between now and the appointment day in the quest for some hair revelation.

Whatever I decide, I probably need to do this in small steps. I can always go back and get more cut. It’s not so easy to add it back once I go too far. The conversation with my stylist is sure to be an interesting one. When we start talking about how much to cut, I will need to be clear, such as, “are you talking about cutting 3 straight inches or 3 curly inches?”  It’s important to be clear and specific.

I’ll try to make this as easy and straightforward as possible. I will go in armed with a dozen or so pictures of male models, none of them over the age of 18, who all have absolutely perfect hair, and perfect facial construction, and perfect skin, perfect pouty lips, gorgeous teeth and without a single blemish anywhere. 

“Make me look like one of these. I don’t care which one.”

How fucking hard can that be if she has 12 or 15 to choose from?

I have only a blog

This is a strange stage of my life. When I first started setting up a social media account over a decade ago I thought it represented a huge improvement for humanity, or at least those who were fortunate enough to have access to it. Facebook was probably one of the more exciting things I had witnessed in the technology age. Being able to keep in close contact with friends was astounding and the ease with which one could add other acquaintances as contacts was equally exciting.

The honeymoon lasted a year or two before dilemmas presented themselves. Did I really want everyone I knew to see what was going on in my life? What about work colleagues? And friends of friends? And the occasional person who was not friends of anyone I knew but suddenly wanted to be friends with me?

Maintaining all of this soon became something of an annoyance tinged with unnecessary guilt. Even people with hundreds of “friends” were often quick to notice if you removed them from your friend list. Then I started noticing when people began to remove me from their lists. I actually asked someone once and was told that I “posted too much.”  I believe that was the nicest way they could phrase it when in fact they were probably put off by my subject matter — my propensity to write every twisted thought while holding very little back, swear words and all.

The posts of others were starting to annoy me as well. The memes and games were fun at the outset but eventually everyone was doing it and the result was 300 people all posting that stuff as well as news links, cutesy links, music videos, and occasionally some original personal content with the latter seeming to be the best use of the platform, in my opinion.

The trend continued. Things got more political and soon it was obvious what a diverse group of people were using this, and that many were within my friend list. There were disagreements, debates, confrontations, and some instances of ugliness. By the time we were well into the Obama Administration I’d had my fill of people on the far right side of the spectrum and I had to purge. I thought if I could rid my page of them, leaving only those with rational political beliefs, things would be better.

However, the news sharing was all still there. Not only was it too much, but the comments on people’s links were often infuriating if they happened to have a lot of far-right friends, and it seems most everyone did.

To sum up my feelings here I can say if I went to a party with 300 people and almost everyone was talking about and arguing politics, and 30 of those people were avid vocal Trump supporters, I’d have to exit the building quickly. 

It wasn’t just the politics chewing away at my last nerve. Religion was taking a severe toll on me. Every bit of bad news whether on a personal level, or a national tragedy, was peppered with the canned “thoughts and prayers.”

Back to the social media platforms themselves, I’ve always been annoyed by the personal data collection tactics, the adverts (which are sometimes so explicit they’re showing you products that you were browsing on other sites just a few hours earlier), and the stockpiling of profits by these corporations which we are feeding. I never thought of data mining as a deal breaker although I didn’t like the tactic. I do understand they are in this for profits and the primary sources of income are advertising and selling data. It is the price you pay for a free service. But after witnessing all the political antics to influence elections, and the economic impact of these social media giants in the cities where they are based rendering them unaffordable for all but the elites, and the mergers of social media platforms in an effort to control an environment, I started to despise all of this.

For a decade or so I have maintained two Facebook accounts, Twitter and Instagram. My satisfaction level has largely been in continuous and often steep decline. I ceased posting to either Facebook account in 2017 although I was still active on it via comments on the posts of others. I was active on Twitter until I became fed up with sharing a platform with that orange shithole in the Oval Office. Instagram I enjoyed the most because it seemed to be more artistic and less political, at least with the group of people I followed. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much interaction with people and I started to question why I was bothering with any of this.  After 10 years I was feeling everything starting to unravel. 

Then I fucking snapped.

After a spontaneously acrimonious exchange with some fuckwad I didn’t even know on a friend’s Facebook post, I decided it was time. I disabled both Facebook accounts. I had already disabled Twitter a month or two ago. And in a final fit of rage to completely extricate myself from this social media cesspool of human degradation, I completely deleted my Instagram account.

This has happened before, but usually just one platform would get disabled for a few days before I returned. I have never shut off the entire lot of them.

At first I thought it would be nice to take a break for 2-3 days, and decide how best to make these work for me, if there is even a way to do that. Once I realised I had deleted rather than disabled Instagram, and that to return would require a new account, and finding all the connections again, I started to feel a strange sense of liberation.

The first few nights were odd as I would grab my iPad from habit and look at the social media icons which were linked to nothing. I didn’t know what to do with my hands!

Honestly, I have no regrets. There are moments in the day when I think of reconnecting, and then I read a news story about Zuckerberg and I feel completely reinforced in my desire to stay off.

It has been two weeks I think and I’m doing far better than I expected. There were people I followed on Twitter and Instagram as well as Facebook, and sometimes I feel a little sad about that. Then I realise it was only me following them. There was no reciprocity nor any relationship. In their daily lives they do not know I even exist. And I feel a bit more grounded when I acknowledge that fact.

Another irony in all this is that I have a few friends who have never had a social media account. I used to think that was strange. I could never quite understand how the hell they could function without one.

I do not know if or when I shall return or in what capacity. 

It does not really matter right now.

Brun humour

LIX

For the past 18 months or so I feel that I have done a remarkable job of maintaining my balance and not slipping into severe mood swings or depression, other than the usual work-related tantrums and rampages.

Then April happened.

A lot of stressful things happen in April. The tax deadline approaches. And the dreaded birthday. Those happen every year so I’m not sure what exactly sent me into a downward spiral. Any combination of things could contribute but I think this birthday was brutal.

Social media caught the brunt of my anxiety midway through the month, a week before my birthday. Aside from Instagram which is actually a much-needed creative outlet for me, I have largely abandoned all other social media platforms. I still read them, making a comment here and there, but not posting. I channeled all that effort into private writing, typing my random observations about life into a notepad rather than posting on social media for the world (or for hardly anyone, actually) to see. It helps. I don’t have to wonder if it has any likes or whether it will get any. It won’t. Case closed.

Normally it is the round numbered birthdays that really get under my skin. Turning 10 was no big deal; I don’t even remember it. I don’t think anyone gets stressed about turning ten. Turning 20 had me feeling a bit remorseful at leaving behind my teenage years but I do not recall feeling old other than knowing I was halfway to forty. But honestly, that was so far off my radar that I could not possibly comprehend life at forty.

In addition, I didn’t really grow up after twenty. I continued to drift and have fun although in retrospect I was in an exhaustive search to find myself. In that sense it was probably the most awkward decade of my life. I don’t believe I ever stayed in one place more than 18 months.

When 30 happened I met my spouse and finally found a promising career. I started thinking I could settle down and be “normal” for a change. Initially we did still travel a bit in the first half of that decade and then my attention became focused on buying our first home and moving up the ranks at my job. My thirties were not that bad. I still didn’t feel or act my age really. I was routinely asked to verify my age when buying alcohol even into my early 40s which was annoying at times and yet validated my belief that looking and feeling much younger had no end in sight. 

The forties were actually a waste because I essentially drank away the decade like I was still living the college dorm party life to the exclusion of all else. No travel, no adventures, no real fun, just work during the day and extreme intoxication at night. Every night. For ten fucking years. Liquor controlled every aspect of my life and I was merely along for the ride. I actually think turning 40 had the least impact on me because by that point I was already oblivious to everything. If I had to single out the worst decade of my life it would be the forties, right up to the bitter end of it all at 49 when I smashed my face on concrete, broke some bones and required the first major surgery of my life.

This did prove to be a sufficient distraction from my 50th birthday. I knew I had to change some things and it took a couple of years before I was able to wean myself off hard liquor and stick with beer and wine.

Other issues started to crop up during this time. Old age issues to be precise. With the tequila, whiskey, and vodka fog lifted from my head I began to think again, to be concerned about health issues like medical exams and dental work. That’s when the high blood pressure was diagnosed.

I also opted for some eye surgery at 55 to correct my vision. I went with full lens replacement surgery because basic lasik wasn’t going to help that much. That was a difficult time because I started having other issues with my eyes — infections, redness, styes, sensations of sandy grit in my eyes and other general irritations. After visiting several optometrists I was diagnosed with dry eye syndrome by each of them.

After trying different prescriptions I finally got the most relief from a twice daily prescription eye drop coupled with artificial tears as needed, and a twice daily lid wipe. It hasn’t solved the problem by any stretch of the imagination, but it has stopped the flare-ups that made me, at worst, look like I was in the midst of a week-long drinking binge.

More than 20 years had elapsed since I had done any overseas traveling and finally I decided I would travel to Iceland. And for three consecutive years I did this. It made me feel like my old self again, my old young self. Each time I came back I promised myself I would get my teeth cleaned and get to the root of my eye problems before I would allow myself to go back. The trips were fun but I was extremely self-conscious about my appearance.

Finally after the third year of this and not adhering to my promises I started taking charge of things late in 2018. I did not allow myself a trip that year but I also kept putting off the dental work until there were hardly any hours remaining in the year.

Now I can’t even count how many times I have been to the dentist since the last week of 2018. I was up to 6 visits before I stopped counting and I’m not even done yet! Two crowns, a root canal, a deep cleaning & scraping, and whitening. I go back in June for the final permanent crown and then it will soon be time for my regular 6-month cleaning again!

I also discovered an over-the-counter eye drop that effectively deals with the redness, essentially obliterating it for a full day. Coupled with the other products I’m using this has been miraculous for my self-esteem even though it’s not perfect and frankly I hate relying on so much, but it’s far preferable to the alternative.

All this happened just in time for the April birthday which could best be described as being awakened from a deep sleep by the loudest imaginable horn. Rather than waiting to be traumatised by the big six-zero next year I was broadsided by the fact that 59 is not unlike what I felt at 19 when I knew the teenage years were disintegrating and there was nothing I could do about it.

What is different now is that the fantasy of continuing to look and feel young is over. It has been a long time since my age was checked at the liquor store. I will no longer cavort about trying to act young without any regard for the consequences. I can’t. The difference between 59 and 49 is sobering enough. When you are in your 40s you still have all of the 50s ahead of you. Suddenly I no longer have that. I have exactly 11 months of them left and there is fuck all standing in the way between where I am now and being sixty.

I cannot even quite fathom where this decade went. At least with my 40s I knew that decade was obliterated by a 10-year hangover.

It started weighing heavily on me in the days leading to my birthday. And the entire month felt eerily long, like it would never end. By the last week of April I could not even recall April Fool’s Day. It may as well have been 4 months earlier.

There were days when I felt like I was dying. There were days when I wanted to die. There were days when I was too lethargic to give a shit. I sometimes literally go into a panic when I’m thinking about life, thinking about the future, trying to be hopeful, and then 59 lights up in my head and I suddenly feel as though all of eternity has slammed down on my chest rendering me unable to breathe. It has not been pleasant.

Twenty years can sometimes fly by seemingly in an instant.  If I am lucky enough to live another twenty I will be 79 which is such an absurd thought I do not wish to entertain it. Already I no longer neatly fit within the group I’ve identified with my entire adult life — young people! I could just omit the neatly bit. I no longer fit. Delusions are another problem of mine and perhaps this is a good time to stop living those. My past is far more extensive than my future and that’s an unavoidable bitter fact. I just have to accept it, make adjustments to my attitude, and move on. Perhaps turning 60 will be as uneventful as turning 10 now that I’ve gotten some of the angst out of my system.

At any rate, by the time I wrap up my dental work, the year will be half over. Now that I have fulfilled the promise to myself perhaps my reward can be another trip to Iceland. Having stayed at home in 2018 and not having gone anywhere yet in 2019 I am feeling a bit like I’m slipping back into some old unpleasant ruts. Whether I will go there and suddenly feel 20 again or whether I will feel 59 remains to be seen. I think I should just wing it and see what happens.

I am not the same person I once was. I will not be the same person who visited Iceland at 18 or 55, 56, or 57, but I will be who I am when I am there.

The past few months I have spent reading books. I started with an Icelandic novelist and have expanded my reading to include one of his influences, a Norwegian author. They could all be described as somewhat morbid and horribly depressing at times. But there is often an underlying humour at least. What’s interesting about my selection of books is that they all seem to parallel in some way what I’m feeling and experiencing in life, not in a general sense but in very specific details.

Chapter 8 of the current book begins: “The years pass quickly, do they? Yes, for the one who is growing old.”

Or to put it another way, from one of my own personal notepad entries recently: “The good news is that I’m not in the home stretch of life yet. The bad news is there’s not much between here and there.”

That humour, depressing as it is, keeps me going, knowing I am not alone. Getting old isn’t the problem; it’s the lack of remaining time that pisses me off.

A careless disregard for my masculinity

Having exceeded my quota for jeans, jumpers, jackets, shirts, shoes, and cardigans, I have moved on to jewellery.  I seem to have a need for sterling silver rope chains in every conceivable length and width. An 18-inch chain sits right at my neck which is ideal when wearing crew neck t-shirts. A v-neck can handle 20-inch chains and there are various possible combinations with 22-inch and 24-inch chains. I got all these in varying widths from around 3MM to 6MM.

For some reason I decided I had to have a 30-inch chain which sounds simple enough but I wanted it to be thick and substantial. Trying to find exactly what I want is not easy…or cheap. Most sterling silver is quite affordable and frankly I do not understand why anyone would buy stainless steel. Chains that are in the 2 - 4MM thickness can easily be found for $60. Once you get beyond 5MM and going longer that’s a LOT more silver and prices suddenly pop up at $180 - $300 and I almost ordered an 8MM 30” chain for over $400. I decided on 7MM for $100 less and it’s ample.

Once I get into that price range I really want to be sure I have exactly what I want — this is not like buying a pair of socks. And because 30-inches is significantly longer than my next longest 24-inch chain, I selected 3 more and they will start arriving on Monday. 

One is a 5MM Franco chain with rhodium coating. It will not be as shiny as the diamond cut rope chains. Another is a byzantine link 28-inch which is only 4.1MM thick, and the third is the least costly at $90 which is a basic twisted rope 4MM chain which will look similar to all the others I own. For that reason it’s probably a long-shot because I want to strive for some diversity here. I don’t really want a half dozen neck chains that all look the same except for length and width. (And why are chains sold in the US with thickness in millimetres and lengths in inches?)

One of my favourite designers is Emanuele Bicocchi in Florence, Italy, and I recently splurged on a wonderful necklace with several strands in different textures all woven together, cinched at the bottom with several ropey strands dangling beneath that. While it’s all sterling silver it is dark like charcoal. When worn with a darker shirt it is very toned down and then really pops against a white shirt.

When I started the search for a shorter 18-inch chain I was very frustrated with the lack of creativity and so many have attached pendants which I didn’t want, and don’t get me started on my aversion to crosses!

What I finally found that seemed to be exactly what I was looking for was also a Bicocchi. However, it was not on any of the sites in the US where this stuff is sold. I found it on the Bicocchi site in Italy. At almost €900 I decided to leave it.  The irony is that I’m probably spending that much anyway of the backup options but at least I will likely have 3 or 4 new necklaces.

Once I decide on the 30-inch chain I should be done with neckwear for awhile. After all, it looks preposterous if I put on 2 or 3 silver chains. The most I will ever wear is two: the shorter one which sits at my neckline and then the long darker Bicocchi which is an OK contrast. My intention is not to blind anyone with excessive bling.

As if all of this isn’t enough, there’s the new obsession with bracelets. I went through a bracelet phase when I was in my 20s and I still have three or four of them, and they’re all stainless steel crap. I want something nice. And I won’t settle for a variation of the generic rope chains I have for necklaces.

Lo and behold, Bicocchi appears on the scene again! I found one in a similar style to the necklace — a woven strand of 4 dark silver ropes. I ordered this in a medium and my hope was that it wouldn’t be too loose. There were no specifics when ordering as to the actual length of the thing. Yesterday it arrived and I could barely fasten it around my wrist and I have pretty small wrists for a guy.

I started researching bracelet sizes and found a rather interesting article about men and jewellery.  Apparently there are a lot of men who think any jewellery somehow compromises their masculinity! Oh, the horror! That’s fine. I seem to have no problem tossing my masculinity to the wind. In fact, I rather enjoy it. And someone needed clarification as to which wrist should a man wear a bracelet! I guess it's always good to Google these things because you might make the wrong choice and then everyone will point and laugh because you are SO GAY!

I have reordered the bracelet in a large and decided to add to that order another one made of gorgeous blue agate beads with a silver skull clasp. We’ll see how that goes. I might decide it’s not a great look for me but I want to try it on anyway. I would have preferred to not have a skull incorporated into the design but I guess that was a huge thing recently in the fashion world. At least it isn’t a string of skulls!

I’m not planning to load up on bracelets. I just want to have a couple of nice pieces to round out my look. I’m sure that’s what I probably said initially about shirts and shoes.

An April awakening

One could assert that I went through some strange phase in 2018, particularly in the last few months of it. I spent a shocking amount of money on high-end designer clothing and accessories. I don’t know the exact amount but I do know it was outrageous. Almost all of it was heavily discounted as if that makes it less shocking. 

I do like to amuse myself at times by speculating what the full retail price would have been and I can say without a doubt it was equal to a new car, or in actual prices a very nice used car, or perhaps three trips to Europe. But I didn’t need a car and could not take the time for travels which leave nothing behind but joyous memories if all goes well. I needed a new experience, a distraction from a mundane life and job stress, not to mention smoothing out the rough edges of my heightened anxieties. It became a way for me to reward myself with prizes I could see, wear, and fondle, simultaneously maintaining an awareness of, and the need to eventually control, the addiction to it. I suppose I have succeeded.

At no point during this shopping frenzy was my motivation ever about ostentatiousness or putting on airs. In order to do that you actually need to be out in public, and I rarely am. I don’t even have a social circle but if I did they wouldn’t know the difference if I was wearing Loro Piana or Banana Republic, and I really wouldn’t want it any other way. Anyway, I think the most vulgar displays of money dispersal are when you pay to basically become a walking advertisement for a brand, and I have never wanted to go that route, and I haven’t.

I try to keep away from visible logos, or keep them as inconspicuous as possible. After months of studying fashion I can now spot a few designers based on how their clothes are designed as opposed to seeing their name emblazoned across the front of a t-shirt.  The only time I ventured in this direction was with the handbag which has the designer’s name repeated across the shoulder strap, but at least it’s subtle brown lettering on brown material and not yellow on blue! But, only in jest will I ever say, “would you pass me my Ferragamo, please?” It will most likely be something like, “would you reach in my purse and hand me my chopsticks, please?”

The clothing I chose appeals to me — the quality of fabrics, where they are made, intricate details like buttons, zippers, threads, and stitching mean as much to me as patterns and colours. It is a way for me to feel connected to people who enjoy the art of design and in some cases with people who have been in the textile business for generations. Wearing these materials makes me feel good. 

Now that my closet is full I can begin the next phase of the experiment which is even more fascinating: deciding what I like best. For me, it is really impossible to truly know how much I like something, whether it’s a shirt or a pair of shoes, from trying it on a dozen times in my bedroom strutting and posing in front of the mirror.  When I cut the tags off, put it on and go out to lunch my mind becomes distracted by other things which pushes the clothing away from the forefront of my thoughts. Sometimes they fight back — a slightly scratchy label in the neck of a shirt for instance which I never noticed while my attention was focused on how I looked wearing it.

The most lovely surprises are when I simply feel comfortable, when the shirt or trousers become one with me, and sometimes it happens unexpectedly. There are shirts I’ve bought because the patterns were fascinating or the colours were vibrant and bold and appealed to my eye. And over time I discover the ones I adore most are the ones in a solid colour, or perhaps with the tiniest pattern, imperceptible to anyone around me, or because the fit happens to be so perfect it seems tailor made for my body.

Sometimes I feel overwhelmed by the possible combinations of outfits I could wear. Over time it will all have a sense of purpose as some of them will become strictly autumn, winter and spring wear completely separate from the 40ºC summer gear. This is especially true with the outerwear. There are a few jackets I will only wear on cold days, and some will only be worn on cold and rainy days, while others will see action on cold sunny days. There is some humour in the fact that I can literally put together an ensemble ideal for every two or three degree change in temperatures. Overkill? Maybe. 

A full year will be needed to assess all of this as I migrate away from heavier fabrics to lighter fabrics in the coming weeks (or days, since warm April thunderstorms have commenced). I will have to continue resisting the desire to constantly put on my favourites in order to get two or three wearings from other things, and some of those things will likely becomes favourites as well. As much as I hate to admit it, there is a high probability that a few things won’t even get worn until 2019 begins drawing to a close with the first autumnal chill. And I’m OK with that. It’s nice to look forward to something.

Ultimately, it will be interesting to interpret my feelings about it all and see what eventually may end up in the second-hand shop where, ironically, I used to buy a lot of shirts before I went off the deep end. Or perhaps snobbery will eventually prevail and I’ll end up like Edina Monsoon and refuse to simply give it away to people who shouldn’t be able to afford it and cannot possibly appreciate it. Time will tell.

Now if you will excuse me, I need to go shower and cobble together some practical fashion choices for this cool and wet April Sunday.

Last day of Mars, 2019.

I’m busy keeping a dying hashtag alive. Leave me alone.

Inspiration

As soon as I feel it inside me I like to regurgitate it in whatever format feels artistic as quickly as possible whenever I feel a statement has been called for.

Angst manifesting

Just saw a post in my neighbourhood social group site asking for donations of used handbags and purses for some goddamn charity or such.. Fuck you, I’ve only got one and you’re not getting it.

Things to do alone on holiday

watching porn on retina display in bed with morning coffee.