I’ve been thinking about the way in which I interact with color and have resolved that in the last six months, I don’t really interact with it at all. I’m not sure why; maybe 24 years later, New York is finally taking its toll on me or maybe, just maybe, the exploitation and over-saturation of previous seasons have made green and pink and sometimes purple so subjectively hard to look at, I’ve got no choice but to fall back on a trusty, reliable, grey tee.
Or, you know, a full suit made of denim.
No more though. Did anyone watch Girls last night? If my “Comfort Zone” is on that wall, in that frame, in that jazzy-ass office, so too are the aforementioned jeans and grey tee. If I’m trying to stand outside of it, near (or directly in) that deep, menstrual colored oval that mandates I think outside the box, though there’s no cocaine (and quite dismally, no Laird either) waiting for me, there is probably at least some iteration of the outfit shown above. You’ve got to admit, I do look something like a girl–pun so fucking intended.
Some sausage making: when I got that jacket, I vowed never to wear it as a jacket. It is cropped, it is pale blue suede, it features decidedly luxurious hardware and as such deserves to be treated as nothing more, nothing less than the focal point of any outfit, never just the accoutrement. Admittedly, it’s not easy to season a suede cropped jacket cum shirt. High waist jeans may be too tight, low cut skirts may not conceal something you’re sure does not deserve the breadth of daylight. A high waist, loose skirt, however: dynamic. I think I really like the color combination but what’s most: a little yellow purse that could conceivably function even more famously as a fanny-pack. I think I’m really ready to give that another try. Want to join? Meet me on my roof in 10.