The gods of fashion speak every season. They tell us what to wear and sometimes what not. They help us craft artificial self-esteem: we feel cool with ourselves because we’re wearing that that they’ve prescribed for the day. Declaring what to trend, they ask us to sync with what’s trending — feeding their fame and fortune. But we have taken the red pill.
I still like my two-button, and not overly fitted, suits. That one-button suits, with fitted fitting, are in now, will soon pass. And for what? I would not try to tell. We leave that for the gods of fashion.
Because their fashions are fickle, are the gods not fickle. Trusted to be arbiters of style, we give them power: if we have to bother about how to wear ourselves as they describe for winter, fall, spring, or summer.
You can’t beat the decent and the sensible, can you. Principles the gods of fashion cannot overrule, by principle. Some follow these, others try to redefine the fine. Many claim a variable morality; variable by the seasons, ‘artists’ whims, and volitional caprices.
Beauty makes sense. And crazy isn’t beautiful. It can’t be, by design.
When you see another rise
Maybe you played a part
Even with a cheer or a prayer
Or maybe with nothing to count
You rejoice and are glad
Glad for the good that has come out
Grateful for the success of another
You formed happiness in me
Sharing the joy in you
Gratitude grew inside
Stirred by the news
Progressing towards a shifting target
It looked like we were walking backwards
Things receding as we approached
The hill was within reach
A reach that simply extended
Until we had come close enough to look so that we could see
All the while making progress against our sense.