I’ve been sucking up to rich Lebanese so they invite me out for drinks. They’re big on hospitality, so it’s an easy ruse. They like to show off the smartest places – the hotels and a few chichi bars. That’s fine by me – booze is booze – but what I hate in these places are the huge flatscreen TVs endlessly showing fashion tv.
Fashion is utter bullshit. Why can’t people see that? The catwalk models are only hot if you like the idea of fucking a stony-faced giraffe. And those ridiculous men with their stupid cheekbones and constant pouting – a little bit of me dies every time I see them. Because I am human, and so are they, and a little of their ignominy is also mine. The absurd clothes they wear! Do they feel as ridiculous as they look? Probably not, but they should.
So what are models actually good at? Well, their features are pleasingly arranged, for which they can claim no responsibility. And they are good at... wait for it... walking! Yes, the way they walk. Now I'm not belittling walking, if you have had a leg amputated, or you're fighting your way back from a stroke or a spinal injury. But an ostentatious strut, for a normal healthy human, wow, what an achievement.
Fashion. Just the word makes me sick. Why does anyone give a shit? It’s too depressing.
Thank god for Thoreau and the lucidity he cultivated beside Walden pond:
‘On the whole, I think it cannot be maintained that dressing has in this or any country risen to the dignity of an art.’
‘We worship not the Graces, nor the Parcae, but Fashion. She spins and weaves and cuts with full authority. The head monkey at Paris puts on a traveller’s cap, and all the monkeys in America do the same.’
Thank you Henry David, you were a man (even sans sauce).
Oh, I hear some mealy-mouthed whining: But fashion is self-expression, you say?
It is expression of the very poorest sort, in the most limited of media. And most people, most of the time, wear stuff made by other people. By the head monkey at Paris, in fact. A fine form of self-expression that is.
No, fashion is vanity. Nothing but vanity. And that’s ok too (when I've had a few drinks), but let's not pretend otherwise.