One of my greatest fears is wearing something that has lycra or spandex or has this elastic quality (except for those trusty black Speedos for swimming... which suddenly reminds me I still haven't found mine and it's already six mois!!!!!). It is simply not meant for those who are not in shape. Case in point: MOI.
I am often conscious but la paresse is always an inextricable part of me. I dread regimes but somehow I should see it as a kind of self-torture which can transcend itself as fun (in a certain way). In my world, my idea of a good time is often equated to giving myself a hard time. It's much like when you push people you like away from you and the more they try to get to you- that's exciting. But lately, that's not a part of les repères quotidiens. I think I'm just rather getting exhausted so for a change it might be healthy to contradict myself.
Meanwhile, I should consider myself lucky to have at least a piece of Alexander McQueen in my closet because no matter how good McQueen could be under Sarah Burton, I grew up seeing Lee as a personal hero who helped me cope up with a lot of my own personal struggles. Fashion was both an escape and a kind of unattainable territory that I never stopped dreaming about. Those Lee-raving days in itself were one of my best memories of my not-so-good childhood. I was often misunderstood but that still adheres in the context of the present. D'ailleurs, his works offered some kind of relief to me and to have just a piece of that could be one if the most wonderful things ever that has happened in my life (or make that my life confined and governed by bourgeois materialism and consumerism).
Specs: YSL, cotton-spandex pull: Alexander McQueen, montre: Casio, sac: Agnès B, pleated trousers: Zara, baskets: Comme des Garçons SHIRT.
Photo: Mark Arvin.