October 29, 2015

“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.





jilsander no21

➝ source : toga pulla oversized roll-neck sweater via farfetch

➝ source : embellished skirt via peter pilotto

➝ source : lamb fur tote via jil sander

➝ source : bow embellished shift dress via no.21


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