This is me wearing my favorite t-shirt, which I have two of. And a matching poster, which hangs over my bed. You can't blame me--Breathless is my favorite film. And I think I was going through an existential crisis when I made the purchases. Also, they were on sale.
T-shirt Rodarte for Breathless 50th Anniversary.
Jean-Paul Belmondo and Jean Seberg in Godard's À bout de souffle (Breathless), 1960. Jean was absolutely beautiful, I'm mesmerized by her. And Jean-Paul was recently honored at this year's Cannes Film Festival. In this film, he reminds me of some guys I've dated. Except, I like Michel (his character). The other guys, not so much. Not anymore.
"A Buddhist monk lies on his futon in his Tokyo pied-a-terre, surrounded by his Comme des Garcons collection. Once a month, religiously, the monk trades his robes for a head to toe Comme des Garcons outfit, leaves the temple and heads for Tokyo to pick up a few more pieces and visit his sanctuary. Strangely, he sees the designs as having a religious quality. His sister, a former delinquent, apparently reformed when she found Garcon." --Kyoichi Tsuzuki's Happy Victims
So after plenty of family drama and tears shed, my mom was able to persuade me to continue living at home so that I could spend my money on clothes rather than rent. So this past week I bought a Margiela sweater and the VPL bra modelled above by beautiful Kiko, from the Barneys catalogue. I was supposed to save money for next month's Southern California trip. Oops.
I can't help but feel as if I'm compromising a lot of my wants. Like, I really want to move out of this neighborhood. The neighborhood I was going to move to is near a lot of queer shit, which would've been ideal. But I could have it worse.
Who knows, maybe in two years I'll want to transfer schools, so I'll have an excuse to move away. Maybe if I move away I can just focus on my studies. Don't have to think about my "career." The word itself scares me. I just want to run around wearing Comme des Garçons.