I’m asking because two years ago, after having submitted that I would probably never wear another article of leopard print clothing again, I am all, “Ooooh, these boots are cool. Hey! That’s a neat jacket. Yeah, this is great. And kind of ironic!”
You get where I’m coming from regarding the former statement, right? As a woman who has spent years waxing poetic on such prosaic -isms as, “Not leopard? Not interested,” my previous reluctance to continue living life in the parodic lane probably had little to do with the actual print so much as it did my needing to escape the inflated sense of self that I created.
That, and every time I slipped my arms into the faux-fur jacket that I’d bought from Zara on Boulevard Haussmann on one particularly lonely Saturday evening while I was abroad in Paris, I am reminded of having felt like the remains of a pick-up post explosion in aisle 9 at Toys”R”Us.
And that’s the wrong kind of nostalgia to indulge in, not because it’s a poor memory but because it’s so sweet, having to come to terms with the fact that those are days I’ll never experience again really just makes me want to stab myself in the throat with the chain knights wore around their necks — yes the hard fabric that elicited a cushion, which would become The Turtleneck as outlined this morning in Amelia’s outrageous story on the sweater’s genesis.
But back to the leopard print — I’m all in. Again. It’s just…that platform, man.