Thoughts On Joyless Fashion

Stepping into D**** in Paris is like walking through a neon-soaked art lab
– pristine, chic, with concrete echoing my every step.

It’s an event like hundreds each week in Paris
— a DJ, sponsored drinks, and people more or less fashionably dressed.
Nothing special so to say.

I am a regular at these clusters of people who are
more or less cool, more or less distinctive,
with styles that belong to them more or less,
and, let’s be honest — with more or less personality.

Here’s what always cracks me up:
— on one side, those who have nothing left to prove, always older,
gliding into pieces whose simplicity whispers: “REFINEMENT.”

On the other side, some crews, often younger, who still have to make their mark
— they are a bit like calves, they still need to fight to assert their presence.
And it is they who inspired this idea in me last night.

“Joyless fashion” I suddenly thought.

Because in front of asymmetrical torn leather jackets,
tight pants with seams bursting like scars,
and bulletproof vests worn in hype…
Because in front of their futuristic boots with rubber soles
and their gazes hidden behind stark, uninspired glasses.
Because in front of these dark, era-specific fabrics
— so very plastic and collars rising to the eyes…
A wave of sadness swept over me.

Yes, wrapped in these textile shells of abyssal darkness,
their clothes are armors against the intrusion of the mundane
— rigid, mega-loud pieces that scream:

I feel neither fear nor admiration looking at them.
But indeed a sadness that matches their statement
— a cry of existence, a will to power that their clothes throw in my face
like a desire to crush me to get past and climb this damn social ladder.

Which, in fashion, resembles a lot the torment of Sisyphus
— version I carry my own cynicism, too heavy to bear.

In short — it’s a neo-hardcore movement this joyless fashion.
It’s not a fashion made to seduce or to enchant,
but to intimidate and assert superiority.

The ominous aura that permeates the space makes me question
— the idea that the avant-garde is necessarily a declaration of war, isn’t that frankly outdated?

Because this “joyless fashion” is not beautiful
— that’s not what it seeks — it’s not ugly either;
it’s not interestingly ugly or an experiment that upends our beliefs…

No.
it’s the domination of a tyrannical
vision that drowns me in its darkness.

And frankly, under my pink candy-fur leopard coat,
I felt like an extinguished lantern in a gothic cave
turned into an industrial wasteland.