“it is strange that the tactile sense, which is so infinitely less precious to men than sight, becomes at critical moments our main, if not only, handle to reality.” // v. nabokov
when it’s warm out – i’m not keen on reaching out and touching someone, anyone.
other than those i live with, when it’s hot out and skin is exposed to the elements; wettish with heat, a hint of stickiness; waxy with lotions, scents and sunscreen – i’m sorry, but i don’t want to touch you. i’ll hug you if i have to, but i’ll cringe on the inside and look for the quickest route to escape.
it’s around this time – the start of deep autumn, when i start touching people i hardly know. it’s not weird, i’m far-removed from the perv, as it’s not skin i’m angling for – it’s all texture. i want to touch the fuzz of fabric – the contradiction of wool with its cushioned itch, silky furs with no scrutiny involved – if you wear your faux, vintage, recycled, or up-cycled; i’m bound to reach out and touch it. these days – they’re meant for the tactile, to reach out and touch someone, respectfully.
so, forgive me if i graze your arm and linger a bit too long, or a hug drags on a beat longer than you had intended. it’s not you, it’s me – i’m a weirdo for fall and i wanna touch your clothes.
➝ source : embellished skirt via peter pilotto
➝ source : lamb fur tote via jil sander
➝ source : bow embellished shift dress via no.21