I have this thing, which I think is totally due to some serious cultural conditioning / how I was raised. It's the moment when the half-life of buyer's remorse falls off enough that I can finally justify the cost of buying something. Or rather, "it" justified being bought. I apply this thought process to everything, from loo rolls to high end stereo equipment. Clothes often become the focus of this process. In fact the very awareness it came to me on Monday, while I was getting ready for work.
Within the first week of arriving in London I bought myself, at the low low (then high high) price of £20, a long black trench coat. Not sure if it's wool, cotton or other wise. I am sure though that it's damn comfy. I've even slept in it numerous times, using it as a blanket during that first fledging month as the house we lived in in Stratford was little more than a shack: absolutely zero insulation. Not cool for a warm blooded, "vars-van-die-boot-af" Kaap Stad laaitjie in the middle of U.K winter.
It struck me, 2 years on, that I still wear it to work, out to pub / clubs or whatever, and that the justification for needing it has proven sound. It's probably the least stylish coat anyone can wear, but I love it, and it's in perfect nick. I dug out this sleeveless jersey I bought about 9 years ago, when I started working (back in '99), and I've been wearing that on the really cold days. It still fits, amazingly (think it's stretched a bit) and is fashionable again (go figure). In fact, I've received quite a few compliments.
But the justification process also has a more sinister side, since I rarely throw things away. I have t-shirts in my cupboard I brought over from home that are well over 5 years old. I defend them valiantly against the forces of extradition (read: my girlfriend), claiming that they're still good for "gym shirts". This seems to work, but for how long I don't know.
I just can't justify buying new ones…
[G], out
scar tissue that I wish you saw
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