I haven’t been in Rick Owens in London for ages.
Not since they opened up a new space for menswear at the back.
For some reason, my eye was drawn to things that were long.
Like this top.
Blurry changing room body selfie!
Ohmygod it’s the comfiest top in the universe.
And it’s mid-thigh.
And then there was this one.
The most insanely comfiest top in the entire whole universe.
Even blurrier knee-level changing room selfie!
(And yes I know in that pic my legs look like those of height-challenged X-Factor fan favourite Sam Callahan, but it does go to knee level)
Maybe it’s just me.
Maybe it’s the fact that I was in my Scarpa walking boots (the only footwear I’m wearing till March).
But to me these tops looked kind of butch.
Here they are at home.
How long is it?
The other one.
Ohmygod it’s long.
Over a metre.
And so that makes it a dress, right?
So weird these definitions and descriptions.
And what is allowed in terms of length.
I was having long conversations yesterday about jacket and coat length.
And about how in winter you want a longer length.
To keep you warm.
Funny how in a coat, length is seen as completely masculine.
Here’s my trusty Freeman’s Sporting Club overcoat, which I’ve been wearing religiously this winter.
To me, it’s not that long as a coat.
Not that far off what looks so unusual in a top for men.
So for coats, around 1 metre feels normal and everyday.
But for a top, 1 metre is for most men terrifying.
(Of course, by saying “most men” here, I obviously mean “most-men-who-live-in-countries-of-Christian-heritage,-regardless-or-not-of-whether-they-have-any-religious-beliefs-themselves”)
Maybe it boils down to practicalities – that men delineate the divide between top and bottom at the waist, because of access to to the crotch.
So we can go to the toilet quickly. And easily.
Rather than hoik up cloth.
As I’ll have to do when I wear this top.
Sounds stupid, but it’s from this sort of practicality that modes of dressing originate.
I can’t wait to wear them.
Something of interest for 2014, one feels.