What happens when our garments suffer some kind of imperfection? What happens when a seam tears, an eyelet rips, a button falls off, a strap comes undone? An item of clothing is, after all, just a physical object constructed of fabric, and its delicacies are inherent in its creation. Most garments, no matter how well-made, have lives that are finite. Should they be tossed into the trash and added to the approximately 12 million tons of textile waste that the US produces each year? Or can they be worn and loved despite their imperfections? That's the idea I've explored in last night's outfit.
House of Leaves.* I had them done at a studio in Chicago (that will remain nameless) shortly after I moved here about 3.5 years ago. The tattoo artist spent much of the session trying to convince me to go out on a date with him and not enough time paying attention to my tattoos (I shot him down pretty hilariously in case you're wondering). The lines aren't straight and the colors have bled, especially on the hollow blue square. I've been meaning to get them touched up for a long time. But there is a certain beauty in imperfection and perhaps that's why I haven't yet made an appointment to have them fixed. Or maybe I'm just lazy.
*SELF-CONSCIOUS DISCLAIMER: I realize that House of Leaves is pretentious with its po-mo literary devices and borders on gimmicky drivel, but I read the book during a very critical period of my life. I hate having to justify the things that I enjoy but unfortunately people reaaaallllly like to judge others based on their harmless likes and interests. If you feel the need to judge my literary tattoos, kindly go suck a fuck.