I find it strange that out of the three new pairs I bought, this navy one fits the best. A little note for those who want the genuine articles: look at the stitches, besides the lettering on the soles. Now if only I had a shirt that has the same print on this rubber mat … Doesn't it remind you of a Dries Van Noten pattern?
If I were only in a summer villa somewhere very very far from any central business district, then I wouldn't need to wear a neck tie. Of course a light cardigan would still be nice, and maybe also some things striped and checked (even more leeway for polka dots and prints!).
But the thing is I was at work today and could only escape to places in my mind, even if my espadrilled feet could have very easily imagined sand with a few patches of grass (even if, as expected, it rained hard today).
Emporio Armani shirt and tie: both thrifted; cardigan, Dean & Trent; trousers, Martin Margiela; belt, Brave Beltworks; navy espadrilles from Spain
Photos by Patricia Suzara
But that doesn't mean that work — or the hours after work with colleagues — doesn't bring its own confessions and discoveries.
It was mentioned tonight, over drinks and a long table of dishes, that with the kind of work our team does and with our hours, it was inevitable that people did other things besides: they had to lead second, more interesting lives. Besides the usual freelance jobs for writers and editors, a few confessed of maintaining, like me, their own blogs. One even boasted of thousands of daily hits…
I suppose there (here), no one needs to abide by dress, or even moral (!), codes. No stripes on shirts, no bars to limit the excesses of the mind.
Though I myself am immersed in several extra-curricular projects, when it comes to leading second lives, I wouldn't put any number. Without taking extra jobs or publishing blogs, just reading books opens multiples of universes. Writing literature exposes all of them.
So I leave you with one short paragraph that I finished reading this morning, on my way to work, that I'm sure no colleague could second guess what emotions they inspired:
At the same time Himmelfarb realized he could never convey the sudden stampeding of the heart, sickening of the pulses, enmity of familiar streets, the sharp, glandular stench of unreasonable fear. For words are the tools of reason… (Riders in the Chariot, Patrick White)