'My life has been full of terrible misfortunes - most of which never happened.'
Michel de Montaigne
I was thinking of all the women I've seen naked in my life. Not those on a page or a screen, but rather those i'd seen up close (up close and very personal). I wasn't thinking about them in a manner akin to gazing into a pornographic zoetrope in my mind, but rather of the actual people themselves. To be even more specific, I was thinking of how many might now regret revealing themselves to me in such a manner. Not because of anything I may have done at the actual moment of the clothing hitting the floor, but due to something that may or may not have happened further on down the track to make them feel not so fondly of/towards me.
It's not that there's that many out there. At least, i don't think there to be. But i'm no saint and i certainly ain't perfect, so logically i've got to assume that the exact figure is plural. It's a very understandable emotion if it exists. There's two levels of vulnerability that we reveal whilst intimate. There's the much valued emotional and mental side and the also very protected physical side. For those out there who are even in the slightest 'Body Conscious', to face that fear, to build up the strength to trust that much and then have the motivations for such a display disappear - well, this obvious grounds for remorse and regret. I understand that and that's what i was thinking about on the D-Train over Manhattan Bridge today.
Now why would i think of such things at that particular moment?
Well here's the link:
Some real summer weather has descended upon New York. The sun's out, the rain (sorta) holding off and it seems to be bringing out a familiar sight. You see, the Big Apple is a city where the most common and overt form of individual expression is in personal fashion - the clothing people dress up in. Now i know this is true of people all over the world, but not to the extremes displayed here. I don't necessarily mean 'extreme' as it relates to actual article of clothing, but rather to the scale and somewhat totality of it all. This is a very dense metropolis, yet even despite taking this into consideration, there is a inordinately high proportion of clothing and accessory outlets spread out across its width. This city is one of the few fashion meccas we have. Defined so not because of those that come to visit, but rather by the the residents themselves.
In my mind there's two great climates for fashion expressionism. The 'Dry Cold', where one gets to pile on layers and thereby express in the form of composition and combination. It's the sort of canvas that provides for a Jackson Pollackesque type painting. And then there's the hot - in fact the very hot - where the individual must choose ever so much more carefully for the piece will be both singular and minimal in nature. And in an extreme fashion focused city, there's going to be those that really take the ' minimal' thing to the, well, extreme. What are most are these folk trying to express? Confidence.
So as i stood under the icy air con blowing down my carriage and cranked the Bluegrass music just that bit louder on the ipod, i looked out to see all these really confident girls. I respect their confidence, even if, for ascetic reasons, i actually would have preferred some of them to cover up a little more (do you not have a mirror in the house?). To a guy that confidence is attractive. It's sexy. It's cool. And it's turn on. The girl carrying it off well enough demands attention. Perhaps even the sort of attention that leads to a conversation. Conversation that leads to a phone number exchange. This might lead to a date. And then another. And then finally, a couple years down the track, to a family court somewhere in lower Manhattan, where a couple of lawyers fight over child custody issues and who gets to keep the authentic, Elvis signed, white, rhinestone jumpsuit.
And all of this simply because she chose to reveal her confidence -show a bit of skin.
Would she regret revealing herself in such a manner? Would she feel that a whole lotta pain would have been averted if only she's chosen a less minimal outfit on that day? She could have gone for jeans on Thursday and saved the little white hotpants for Friday where she would have drawn in a far more suitable and long term suitor who woulda been bonafide.
If only...
So, i began to wonder of those who had drawn me in with their airs; do you reckon they regret it now?
