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Pacified Armor.
Posted by Caitlin Cortez
on
4:52 PM
People pour out into the streets as the sun dips behind clouds. Strange how the sun hides as people come out.
Rod iron gates disappear into oblivion. Lights flicker on. The day is here to stay.
Like clockwork people go in and out of hiding. In a city so over-inhabited, over-indulged, and over-stimulated the idea of hiding is ludricous. In Manhattan, your personal space is all you have. You treasure it, protect it, carve out places for all each and every one of your favorite things.
As I unpacked carbon-colored washed lamb leather jackets I felt as if the jacket had a life way beyond my years. It is the kind of jacket you live in. The kind of jacket that has a history. A jacket that is a part of your journey, today, tomorrow, 10 years from now. It is the kind of jacket that makes you feel safe enough to come out of hiding and brave the city alone.
Fashion is no different than a favorite blanket, a stuffed animal, or a lucky charm. Something about the inanimate object breathes life into you, protects you, and speaks you to.
Vulnerability festers in this city. Thats why people hide. Everyone is compensating. Life in Manhattan is like a battlefield, everyone sizing you up, beating you down, forcing you to realize just how insignificant you really are. Nothing beyond a New Yorker's hole-in-the-wall of a home is important. To them, the holiday sweater stashed in their oven is more worthy of concern than you.
Whether the stoop you stumble out of is on the Upper East Side or the Bronx, the wind created from people walking by seems to steal every ounce of protection lingering from your safe haven. The city sucks you in and spits you out.
Fashion has become a defense mechanism. As humans we crave to envelope ourselves in an armor. Whether that armor is knowledge, an umbrella, or a washed-leather jacket, we seek cover from the storm.
The more pretentious and important you feel you are, the more protected you become.
Let fashion craddle you, lull you, save you. Without it, you are barenaked against the elements.
Rod iron gates disappear into oblivion. Lights flicker on. The day is here to stay.
Like clockwork people go in and out of hiding. In a city so over-inhabited, over-indulged, and over-stimulated the idea of hiding is ludricous. In Manhattan, your personal space is all you have. You treasure it, protect it, carve out places for all each and every one of your favorite things.
As I unpacked carbon-colored washed lamb leather jackets I felt as if the jacket had a life way beyond my years. It is the kind of jacket you live in. The kind of jacket that has a history. A jacket that is a part of your journey, today, tomorrow, 10 years from now. It is the kind of jacket that makes you feel safe enough to come out of hiding and brave the city alone.
Fashion is no different than a favorite blanket, a stuffed animal, or a lucky charm. Something about the inanimate object breathes life into you, protects you, and speaks you to.
Vulnerability festers in this city. Thats why people hide. Everyone is compensating. Life in Manhattan is like a battlefield, everyone sizing you up, beating you down, forcing you to realize just how insignificant you really are. Nothing beyond a New Yorker's hole-in-the-wall of a home is important. To them, the holiday sweater stashed in their oven is more worthy of concern than you.
Whether the stoop you stumble out of is on the Upper East Side or the Bronx, the wind created from people walking by seems to steal every ounce of protection lingering from your safe haven. The city sucks you in and spits you out.
Fashion has become a defense mechanism. As humans we crave to envelope ourselves in an armor. Whether that armor is knowledge, an umbrella, or a washed-leather jacket, we seek cover from the storm.
The more pretentious and important you feel you are, the more protected you become.
Let fashion craddle you, lull you, save you. Without it, you are barenaked against the elements.
