I remember when the first iteration of the Internet became semi available for me. I lived in Warsaw, Poland at the time, the time being around 1995 and in the middle of that post-communist town an internet café opened that looked, felt, smelled kind of like it was straight out of Lawnmower Man meets too many good chemical drugs of the earl 90s. As nutty as it may sound today, us youths used to meet there on weekend nights to get fucked up, sit on suspended benches and log onto AOL chat rooms to freely communicate with random strangers to eventually get banned for “inappropriate” behaviour. That kind of was the internet back then and it was hilarious, essentially pointless and after a few months no one really gave a shit about it. Apart from a few clued up teachers I had who quickly realized the utopian potential behind the internet – free, democratic and omnipresent access to information without end.
Originality in Fashion, in the broadest terms, is dead and has been dead for longer than I can remember. Nothing ground breaking in that statement and yet I have retained my interest in the next generation of kids with their adamant fascination in fashion and their pseudo religious fever when it comes to their regurgitated proclamation of originality.
I have been thinking about Death and my own mortality a lot lately. Truth be told, I do think about my own mortality a lot and whilst it goes through waves of importance, or let’s say it being at the forefront in my mind, the last two, three months it has been at the forefront again. More recently, two deaths have really brought it back home again. Earlier, a friend of mine, Gary Warnett died unexpectedly, and today the news of Tom Petty’s death arrived.