Fashion Weak.

I love fashion. The revolving cycle of style amuses and intrigues me. To me, it seems like a template for everything else in pop culture. The Bigger Picture, the grid.
I'm also constantly broke, but that hardly matters, because the retail experience can be totally vicarious. I mean, it'd be nice to indulge in it and have a Mariah Carey-style closet full of things that are "Mine! Mine!" (said with angry tone) but it's also cool to sublimate the process and just be a voyeur. That's right, because I really don't wanna participate in it, with the exception of the customer role. Oh, no...I don't want to work in fashion, no-no-no. But I love clothes. Men's clothes. Women's clothes are too mysterious, a universe too deep. I like the earthiness of the craftmanship that goes into a suit, and the sensible array of fabrics.
So it's fun for me to check out the new stores and see what's out there, walk in with the fake confidence of a platinum card carrier and just examine the hems, and the buttons and the tags. Dispensing the occasional "ooh" and the more frequent "tsk-tsk."
Yesterday I happened to eat brunch next door to the new J.Crew store in Tribeca, which made a visit de rigueur.
It used to be a cute bar and now it's J. Crew, but because it's a concept store it's called Liquor Store. Yawn... there's buyable stuff in there, if you lost everything in a fire and you're in desperate need of shirts and chinos. Also you have to look past the annoying props of geeky-cool masculinity (vintage new wave vynil records, tin soldiers, the fully stocked bar) that make you feel like you're in the intro section of a 2002 issue of GQ. Mixed with the rest there's a few vintage watches and a handful of traditional British brands of sportswear, because if you're a yuppie living in Tribeca you also want to feel like a bit of a hooligan sometimes. The store was packed, and selling well. The clientele, very straight thirty-somethings and their wives.
I needed to expand my visuals (but not my wallet) so I headed west, in the part of town now humorously known as SHNOT (let's not go there.) It's desolate, not a soul walking, the warehouses about to be converted into blingy lofts still under construction. But the retail scene is blossoming. I wanted to give another chance to Aloha Rag again and also check out the new Rick Owens store.

Aloha Rag is ok. If you need to buy stuff, I guess. Not a source of inspiration. They now carry Kitsune, the french record label that also makes cute clothes. Boring, boring selection. They also carry Phillip Lim, Hysteric Glamour and Rogan. Oh, and Linda Farrow sunglasses. How unique! Also: if you ask for a different size they tell you that they have it.... (dramatic pause).... in Hawaii!
If I had a gift certificate I'm sure I could find something there, but I won't trek all the way to SHNOT for such derivative stuff. They'll be closed in a year.
The Owens store was inspiring, for all the wrong reasons. Also: clothes dripping with price tags of ridiculousness. A cashmere lanky, stretchy T-shirt, $900. White Leather High-Tops, $1050. They're sneakers, folks.
So not my thing: you need to be a bit rock'n'roll, a millionaire and possibly not older than 23. Three things I'm not.
I will never be a customer but I respect Mr. Owens artsy vision. It's not vulgar, and that goes a long way. But why investing in a Belgian wannabe when you can get the real Antwerpian shit?
At the store they also sell a self-important tome that's an anthology of Mr. Owens' work. Where he clearly oscillates between commerce and performance art. It contains an interview, full of sensible if not illuminating quotes. One that I can adopt as mine is the following: "How important is masculinity? Paramount. However, without a dash of mad flamboyance, it would be as dull as dirt."
They're talking about menswear but I think it applies to everything.