When I was a kid, I remember watching my dad getting dressed for work. He had a certain order to things. Shirt first. Buttoned. Then pants. But he had to pull them up a second time to make sure the shirt lay straight. Then the belt. And then the tie about the upturned collar.
My brother and I would rummage about dad’s closet and I remembered thinking what a lousy name “Hugo Boss” was for a brand.
My father doesn’t dress in designer clothing anymore. The pants he most takes a shine to are a pair that have a pattern that reminds me of a sushi box. They look like dark green, brown and blonde streaks but it’s hard to tell with corduroy.
And it was in Mexico that I met Amy. Fabulous Amy who went to art school and would wear platforms with a green mermaid dress she could hardly walk in, it was so tight, and hair that was B52-ed. This was regular school wear in the art world. I was already into hats when I met her but she introduced me to the world of vintage and that opened a whole new realm to me.
I already had a certain style formed but she had the Ph.D. in Fabulous.
Borrow from the best. I certainly have.