J.'s world
So, last night I went out with J. for the first time in years. J., a JC classmate whom I still count as one of my oldest and best friends, had asked me to go to the Zouk 15th Anniversary extravaganza that was dubbed "The Crystal Ball". As usual, J. knew not just the guy who was organising the show, but also the models in the show. AND the guy who provided the models for the show. AND of course, the Zouk guy with the power to summon free drinks with the tiniest wave of his hand...
The dresscode was "ballroom chic", so I had a funny feeling it was shaping up to be sort of a "big deal". I should have surmised this, of course, from the events of the afternoon before. Over tea and scones at the Royal Copenhagen Tea House, J. was fretting and fretting over what to wear. Apparently, midway through tea (and totally unbeknownst to me), he had realised after mentally going through his clothes collection that he had absolutely no pants to go with his new designer plaid/patchwork jacket and his new white shirt with the ribbon collar (apparently ties, ribbons etc are "in" this season). So after we parted at 5.15pm, both of us calmly strolling out of Takashimaya, he literally ran like a madman down Orchard Road to Blackjack at Forum Galleria before it could close at 6 and came out with a pair of dark red pants.
Me? I just wore my new Paul Smith shirt and hoped for the best. Not a great move, as I eventually found out, because I had bought the shirt in London from the Paul Smith sale shop off Bond Street. So when his friend R. (with the $8,000 John Galliano jacket) would only say that he had the same shirt, and not a word more, I knew straightaway that I had committed an unmitigated fashion faux pas. Later, I notice one of his friends, who supplies newsprint to SPH and has a different car for each day of the week, actually bought the same Dior jacket with super-rich detailing in TWO colours (one he wore at Zouk, one at Happy). "My price is the highest among all the suppliers," he whispers triumphantly to me at Zouk. "I just signed a five-year deal with Robin."
Strangely I wasn't my usual nervous self and wasn't intimidated or insecure at all (In the end I put it down to being like... 80 kilos next to all these waif-like lean guys haha). Plus everyone was really friendly and nice, and J. took great pains to ensure I didn't at any time feel left out. I just stood there taking in everything in J.'s world with a kind of wonderment I had not experienced for a long time. And when the show reached its thunderously spectacular O.T.T. climax (a fantasy white gothic feathered lacey pouty angel wedding kind of thing), I suddenly realised that life still has quite a lot to show to someone like me.
I just need to get some trendier clothes. :)
The dresscode was "ballroom chic", so I had a funny feeling it was shaping up to be sort of a "big deal". I should have surmised this, of course, from the events of the afternoon before. Over tea and scones at the Royal Copenhagen Tea House, J. was fretting and fretting over what to wear. Apparently, midway through tea (and totally unbeknownst to me), he had realised after mentally going through his clothes collection that he had absolutely no pants to go with his new designer plaid/patchwork jacket and his new white shirt with the ribbon collar (apparently ties, ribbons etc are "in" this season). So after we parted at 5.15pm, both of us calmly strolling out of Takashimaya, he literally ran like a madman down Orchard Road to Blackjack at Forum Galleria before it could close at 6 and came out with a pair of dark red pants.
Me? I just wore my new Paul Smith shirt and hoped for the best. Not a great move, as I eventually found out, because I had bought the shirt in London from the Paul Smith sale shop off Bond Street. So when his friend R. (with the $8,000 John Galliano jacket) would only say that he had the same shirt, and not a word more, I knew straightaway that I had committed an unmitigated fashion faux pas. Later, I notice one of his friends, who supplies newsprint to SPH and has a different car for each day of the week, actually bought the same Dior jacket with super-rich detailing in TWO colours (one he wore at Zouk, one at Happy). "My price is the highest among all the suppliers," he whispers triumphantly to me at Zouk. "I just signed a five-year deal with Robin."
Strangely I wasn't my usual nervous self and wasn't intimidated or insecure at all (In the end I put it down to being like... 80 kilos next to all these waif-like lean guys haha). Plus everyone was really friendly and nice, and J. took great pains to ensure I didn't at any time feel left out. I just stood there taking in everything in J.'s world with a kind of wonderment I had not experienced for a long time. And when the show reached its thunderously spectacular O.T.T. climax (a fantasy white gothic feathered lacey pouty angel wedding kind of thing), I suddenly realised that life still has quite a lot to show to someone like me.
I just need to get some trendier clothes. :)
posted by rookcub at
8:28 PM
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