A sweatshirt

Halston, Gucci, Fio-rucci... A Fiorucci sweatshirt, bought in the mid-eighties from a long-forgotten shop in Newcastle.

That urge we have to do something, say something, wear something: we’re all following someone else, though we may not know it. How hard it is to see the origin of our desires, even when they’re obvious to others. Did anyone ever have a truly original idea; or is every thing we do a citation, every self-expression just post-production?

A boy at school - a sportsman who was Grabber to my Molesworth - had a similar sweatshirt, worn with beaten-up 501s (most probably bought from the basement pile under the stairs at American Classics); his bore an ‘Ozark Mountain’ logo. What did he think when he saw me wear this? Did he even notice? What was it he had that I wanted, which I projected onto this sweatshirt? Questions, questions. 

My wife saw this yesterday and asked if she could wear it. It has horses on it; she likes horses.