it's walking quite a fine line working within a stylistic framework, bringing one's own elan to it, remaining faithful to the spirit, not watering it down, remembering the context, not being a wax dummy, or a catalog model, or a trendy poseur, or otherwise a pretender, yet neither being pretentious or elitist, being inclusive yet not too inclusive, discriminating without being discriminatory, etc. etc. etc. etc. "my mind it ain't so open/that anything could crawl right through ..." - howard devoto of magazine.
there's people coming at it from every angle - this or that or this - and then, there's you. and for somebody, you're never authentic enough, or you're trying too hard - certainly criticisms that could just as easily come out of your mouth on a bad day - but when it gets right down to it, there is very simply a difference between good taste and bad taste, and a knowing sense of humor and a lack thereof, and knowing the streets from which the real style originates versus being a weekender. who's to say that the museum pieces don't have it down better than you do, or the ignorant little kids running around appropriating the scraps and thinking that's enough to capture a spirit dense with semiotics, with history, with context?
plus you haven't got any money for a tailor (the cheapest one in the united states is usually about $1,000, which is a month's pay after taxes and before mortgage - and a good one converts to nearly $4,000 at today's exchange rates), nor for a ride (which you might be able to afford on credit, but which you can't drive because of the...ah...problem...), and you don't smoke or drink anymore nor do you go to the clubs where the young things go...and you've forgotten the dances, and you are old.
and there's that thing. that you are old.
old.
