(Re)Imagining the Thakoon Tail
You’ve got a mullet skirt on steroids, so what you gonna do about it?
One of the happiest blunders during my tenure as a devout sample sale shopper came three Novembers ago when accidentally-but-elatedly, I stumbled into the private preview of one Thakoon Panichgul’s, yes, sample sale. It was unlike anything I’d seen before under the circumstances of a shopping event that promised nearly 80% off almost all fall/winter merchandise: a room devoid of almost any humans, filled with racks of clothes.
And oh, the racks! The clothes! Was it really possible that these were the very garments I had just weeks earlier seen flirting with consumers, coyly exposing full price tags on the floors of department stores city-wide?
Here, they hung elegantly on their hangers. No one pulled or stomped. Sizes ran a generous gamut, but in spite of the striped cashmere sweaters and wool red pants and the blue peplum cape coats, my eyes were focused on one article of clothing and one only: the salmon colored hyper-mullet that frankly made no sense under any circumstances but exuded an urgent sense of if-you-don’t-take-me-you’ll-regret-it-forever.
And guess what? She was right on manifold accounts. I would regret not having bought her and though I did, she still made no sense.
The first time I wore her, it was to shoot a personal style post. Back then, I paired it with a grey sweatshirt, frilly nylon jacket and black booties. It was great but you know that these days I am all about putting jeans under just about everything so it should come as no surprise that in order to make this, uh, old skirt seem, you know, new again, there was only one way to do that.
And with the help of a trusty pair of black lace pumps featuring a patent leather toe, a plain white t-shirt that you can probably procure from anywhere and a silver bomber jacket (spoiler alert: it is definitely worth waiting on line to get your claws on at least the pictured from the Isabel Marant/H&M collaboration), I did what I’d done before and turned the seemingly formal skirt into the shit Saturday nights are made of.
During Fashion Week.
When you’re in a foreign country.
And therefore too far away to make conceivable the universal truth that you are sweeping dog shit off of sidewalks free of charge, at the expense of your beloved Thakoon Tail.