Diary Of A Part Time Futurist – KEEPING IT REAL

There is an aspect of fashion that has always left me puzzled and, my friends, I would like to take the opportunity to share my thoughts on it with you. This piece is by no means a diatribe against anyone in particular or indeed a specific polemic regarding certain items of clothing, but rather a self-acknowledged personal point of view. The trend started 20 or 30 years ago but it is seemingly here to stay and is so alien to my world view that it utterly perplexes me. It is the artifice of cynically appropriating a life style, it is the sham of the distressed leather jacket.

I have picked on this particular item of clothing as a totem for everything that is sold to a similar end. I ask you to therefore take it as representative of pre-torn jeans, of rust bleeding and dirt smeared racing car liveried wraps on spotless new road cars, of high end ersatz Rolex watches and indeed everything they represent. The intent is key to these and the more expensive variants, through their price, define that intent. Although I have always thought it an unhealthy delusional deceit, I do not speak of the fake worn as an aspirational low key gratification regarding something destined to be forever unattainable. In fact I have dabbled in this myself but in such cases it tended towards obscure in-jokes that only I would generally understand. Some of you may find the idea of alloy wheels and a discrete “Abarth” badge on the back of a standard Fiat 127 vaguely amusing / pitiable but I'm guessing the vast majority won't even know what I'm on about without resorting to Mr Google's search engine.

No, its definitely the high end stuff that baffles. What is it that you are buying with these items? I understand the aesthetic appeal of “shabby chic” however I cannot believe that they are bought with a critical eye on the joy of the accidental design or the dread beauty of inescapable, grasping entropy. Such items are churned out to so great a degree that the individuality brought about by the manufacturing – or should that be de-manufacturing? - process is all but obliterated anyway. My inescapable conclusion is, as hinted at above, it is the purchase of something that says “I live a certain lifestyle and by extension I am not the sort of person who cares about appearing pristine. I have earned these frayed edges and scuffs through my exploits that you may notice, although such things are unimportant to me.” Except that it is a bare faced lie. Worse than that, it is the exact opposite of the true nature of the person wearing these clothes. Such studied falsehood comes through expenditure and care.

I do not believe that anyone, or at least very few people, actively review their existential integrity before buying a distressed leather jacket but these things must be popular for a reason and if not to infer a wished for, yet unrealised life then why? Each purchaser, if pushed into such levels of introspection, will I am sure have a different driver. Indiana Jones, Lara Croft, fighter pilots and adventurers. The romance behind the dream is admirable but it remains a conceit and the thing that makes it so unfathomable to me is that if you can afford these clothes then you can afford to do it for real. The level of decadence or insouciance required to carefully construct a wafer thin veneer rather than grasping life firmly with both hands lies beyond my comprehension.

I am lucky in being able to lead a certain life myself but am far from wealthy. Yet even I have taken part in adventures and done things that others have loudly claimed to be their aim, but unfailingly never even come close to achieving. Nothing hugely dramatic or ground shaking but at least beyond the borders of bland normality. More often than not I suspect the failure to even try is down to lack of commitment and honesty with themselves, rather than being denied the opportunity through external forces or sheer bad luck. I have no problem with someone trying for a goal and falling short, the potential for failure is what makes the game worth the prize. No, it is those who will tell you all their grand plans at the bar yet always find reasons to not even start. “One day...” is the usual opening line.

I wonder if in some cases it is more because they don’t have the guts to give the riskier, and by this I do not necessarily mean exposure to mortal danger, aspects of life a go? Too timid or too afraid of having to acknowledge their own inabilities perhaps? Whatever the reason, as a Futurist, for me sensation is all. Bar tongue in cheek and obvious absurdity it is anathema to pretend to have experienced something I haven’t. You may think this is all a bit much with regard to a mere piece of clothing but I would suggest it is not. It is indicative of an approach to life, the choice between shallow pretence in an anodyne existence and the vitality of the real. All I can say is, given the choice, buy a new pristine jacket and write your own story – good and bad - into the scuffs, stains and creases it accumulates as you wear it. Let it tell the tale of a life lived rather than hint at a life you wish for but dare not pursue.