My friend HHH gave me a copy of Electric Youth, my first, somewhere between drinking a large carrot and orange juice in the basement of the Paragon, and drinking a large Mosburger iced tea in the basement of Takashimaya. In between we looked at Bally shoes and Zegna sunglasses, Lego bricks and wooden picture frames, a gold Cartier pendant in the shape of a screw ("It's a pendant for a top!" I said) and a Bulgari gold chain that's just the right length. It's my first Electric Youth, a large-format collectible, as it is one of 1,000 copies, and comes with a medium sized swim trunk in navy blue printed over with tiny silver stars. This latter I've stowed away in the drawer where I keep my briefs and shorts, still in its plastic bag. The magazine I cracked open that night and greedily skimmed through. This occasional, limited publication by American Apparel, part Tiger Beat, part Bel Ami, is an interesting concept on first encounter, but I quite quickly wearied of it, and before I turned the last page, was bored.Part of HHH's routine of an afternoon is a stroll through Kinokuniya , alighting with feathery quickness on this and that magazine, dipping into the fresh glossy pages, very much like those sparrows downstairs flitting and dipping and pecking on this and that all along the shop houses of Chander Road. This afternoon, after a protracted chat with a young lady at the magazines section, about essentially nothing really, he led us to the fashion books section, where we stood a long time looking at every page of the new Jurgen Teller book; I felt like a horse standing in its stable. This is where I bought David Downton's Masters of Fashion Illustration which is simply a must have, and Paul Morand's The Allure of Chanel (with illustrations by Karl Lagerfeld), which appears to be a transcript of a long conversation with Mademoiselle herself. It's fascinating of course, she does say so many eccentric things.MC gave me a book (we had dim sum at The Cathay overlooking Handy Road) because he said that the title reminded him of me - Memories of my Melancholy Whores by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. What can he mean? In it, he wrote: "Stay every bit as silly, unpredictable and wonderful as you've always been. Love, M".
Silly? Yes, undoubtedly. Unpredictable? Surely not. I'm one of the most predictable people ever.