I hope you're well. I went to the aforementioned clothing store on Saville Row this evening (in pursuit of a hideously-overpriced familial birthday present), and found myself asking a lot of hypothetical questions, in the style of the narration from The Thin Red Line. It went something like the following....
'....this great evil....where's it come from? How'd it steal into the world? Why is it so fucking dark in here? And why is the music so loud? Is this a shop, or a subterranean Hoxton Square warehouse party? Why are all the windows boarded over? Is this your idea of progress, of the future, of how shopping should be in a grim world where everyone is perfect? Who's doing this? Who's killing us: robbing us of light and life, mocking us with the sight of what we might have known? What is this toxic drum and bass; reverberating the rough chunks of ice in my pineapple smoothie? Am I supposed to find this experience so disorientating? And why is everyone so fucking good looking, and smiling at me with such perfect teeth?
Do you enjoy working here? Does it satisfy some cruel desire to see people's applications rejected when yours was accepted; to be exceptional, to fit in?
And why are these clothes so expensive?
Are they ethically-manufactured, are your workers paid fairly? Do you know from which tropical locale or distant antipodean clime this fine American stitching originates?
Do you even care? Does our ruin benefit the earth? Does it help the grass to grow, or the sun to shine?
Is this the life you saw yourself living? Do you long to leave after me, as you hold open the door? Do you feel this darkness in you too? Have you passed through this night...?'
Deep. The fact remains; it's a shit store. I argued with a tramp today, about cigarettes. He wanted one. New Year's resolutions are faring well, by the way.
Your loving friend,
Action Squid
No comments:
Post a Comment