Leather Jacket
I want this thing so bad. I hate it and want it at the same time. Sometimes I look at them and think: “Why these are the most beautiful magnificent pieces of clothing to ever exist on the planet!” Other time I think: “Oh my god, who would make such an ugly thing? Why would anyone put this on themselves?” This applies only to the purely leathery leather ones, by the way. I like the sheepskin jackets lined with fluffy shearling, all the time, without feelings of ambivalence.
Right now I'm in that “these are the most beautiful magnificent cool things ever” phase about leather. I think I just want to be included in the club. They really evoke that feeling of “you're one of the cool guys now”.
I saw a group of young men and women all dressed in similar black leather jackets the other day, walking toward the exit of the train station. All silent, all expressionless. I don't think they knew each-other. They were all looking at their phones. I suspect they were on their way to a night-club. One girl, dare she have an ounce of individuality, wore a pair of black cat ears. As soon as she noticed I was looking at her, she took them right off, and went on to look at the floor the entire time just like the rest of the people in that group. What is this? You know, I always thought that the business suit the Japanese salary-men wore gave this sort of anonymous vibe, it made them all look the same and behave the same as if they were one big briefcase. Or one big corporate machine. I didn't think a leather jacket could have the same effect. The thing was supposed to be about rebellion? Wasn't it supposed to be about individualism? But here it is, a swarm of them, all conglomerated into one single being. One big, shiny, leathery being. That description feels slimy and gross. Now I don't know if I want the leather jacket anymore. Did I also want to be part of the big shiny leathery being? Maybe I just felt singled out in my fabric jacket. I felt like they were judging me. Saying I was too lame to be let into the club. Little did the youngsters know, this aunty has lived lifetimes beyond them, she would never even consider entering a club. So, jokes on them!
The thing is. I've never liked clubs in my life. Even when I was in my teens and twenties, I hated them. I was dragged along with friends on occasions and I'd thought every single time: “Clubs are the worst inventions ever made. Surely, nobody actually enjoys this thing”. You were supposed to dance around, but you can't wave your arms or be free because you'd be smacking other people in the face left and right. You're supposed to be having a good time with friends, but you can hardly hear a thing they said if they didn't shout at the top of their lungs. The music is too loud, and it's all remixes, so they're not even really playing the songs you like! What kind of dance is this? This sucks. And then, you had to wake up the next day all groggy, not because you drank too much, but purely because you were overwhelmed by way too much loud music and way too many sweaty armpits and way too much energy spent trying to avoid that one sticky spot on the floor because someone spilled their fruit punch. You also need at least a day and a half to recover from all the weird dreams you had as a result. I know without a doubt that clubs are not for me in any of my lifetimes. But I still hate the feeling of walking as the only non-club-goer among club-goers. It always always always feels as if they are mocking me.
This is not a matter of confidence in my own clothes. Even if I fully believe my fabric coat is the cutest thing ever, I don't want to be wearing it around a whole group of people who are too uncomfortable to do anything different, or dare voicing their opinions. It's just a bad feeling, I can't explain it. This is probably why they don't do it. This is why that girl took off her cat ears, she can't bear the feeling, either.
But the good news is, I am lucky enough to likely NOT be surrounded by those people again. I don't have to give a damn what they do. I don't know why they're afraid to be themselves, but I don't have to join them. But I still want a leather jacket. The only thing stopping me is the fact that, I can't bear to wear a fake one because I don't like the thought of it flaking off in a couple of years, and I can't bear to part with the exorbitant amount of money required to buy a new one that I actually like. And I don't want to risk buying one off of Taobao in case it makes me look like a sack of paraffin wax.
Leather jacket is perhaps the Thing that I'll Never Have. It's the One That Got Away. It's the Guy to my Genevieve*. But hey, it's totally okay to (not) have one of those in our lives.
*Guy is a handsome young man from The Umbrellas of Cherbourg, the love that got away. Genvieve is the woman whom he got away from.
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