Fashion For The Outrageously Cool

A Tale Of Fashion For The Outrageously Cool.


"Alright, the dishes are on the dice, what do you call?"
"Odds, no doubt."
A sharp crack as the dice hit the floor,
Evens.
Fuck.

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"If you need any warm clothes, there's a pile over there in the corner. Take what you want, I'm sure some of them will fit."
A mountain of spoils.
"Excellent."

The house emptied and I set upon the feast of clothes. All hand- me-downs. I began to pick through the mismatched pile of greens and browns. Monotonous. Unchanging.
Perhaps my treasure is, in fact, just trash.

I drew a dark green woollen jumper from the heap for inspection.
Australian Cadet Corps it read across the shoulders. I
threw it back. Not my cup of tea.
I dug further and deeper into the mound. A few fruity little orange numbers in there, a stark contrast to the rest. It seemed they were lost, asking for directions as to the way out. A chocolate brown piece of material caught my eye. I was not intrigued by the colour nor the material, but by two blackened metal buttons. I wondered what they could possibly belong to. I grasped the sleeve and reeled it in.
It was a suit jacket.

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It was a beauty. An absolute marvel. The crème de la crème of suit jackets. Pure sophistication. But I had not yet tried it on, I dreaded that it would not fit. My hopes were best kept low. I slipped my left arms through the matching sleeve, sensing the silky inside brush cool against my arm. I twisted the body around onto my shoulders, then shot my right arm through the remaining sleeve.
A perfect fit. A perfect find.

I should wear it tonight. But wait. A streak of panic seared through me like a lightning bolt. How could I possibly pull this off without a white shirt? I didn't own one. I never had, I wasn't much into the idea. But I never owned a suit jacket either, and now it had become a necessity. The pile was my only hope. The greens and browns flew side to side in a flurry, my eyes were filtered to see nothing but white.
White. White. White! I found it! Something white! But my hopes were soon dashed as I found it was a cotton t-shirt. I reluctantly began to search again, sure that I wouldn't a thing.

And then there it stood. An oasis in this otherwise useless desert of hand-me-downs. And I swear it shone like a thousand suns. I ripped off the jacket then my shirt and threw them to the floor. I worked my way through the sleeves of the white wonder then finished the job button by button.
I donned the jacket once again.

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The dashing figure walking boldly towards me in the mirror winked at me, reflecting all his confidence and pride. I winked back, simultaneously. What a stunning guy.
I foraged through my top drawer and withdrew a crumpled envelope. It used to be home to a birthday card. I slipped out a twenty then rethought my position. No, can't waste money. Ten. I slipped it in the inside the silky breast pocket and dreamed of the moment I'd take it out. What a display, pulling the cash out of the inside breast pocket of this bad-arse jacket. "Oh here, I'll get that", I'll say as I whip out my ten and buy the next jug. I can picture it already.

I filled the other pockets with various other supplies. Matches. Pot. Papers. Essentials. They were awarded with several spots throughout the pockets of my fine threads. Outside left, inside lower left, outside front. A position for each and every one. I had complimented my usual bic lighter, but the thought of ruining my image with cheap plastic crap span me right 'round and set me on the true path.

I saw a trail of light slither swiftly across the asphalt.
It was time to go.

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A car ride later, I swaggered through the pub door, feeling stylish and looking good. I followed my string of friends through the maze of drunken teenagers and found more amigos sitting at a table, by the looks of it, trashed. I took a seat and sussed out the conversation. I was right. They were drunk.

I took a seat and grinned a huge grin as one by one they complimented me. They were a firing squad, but their bullets were praise, and I was the criminal, sentenced to death for the heinous crime of sporting a neat jacket. Bang, bang!
"So where'd you get the suit?
Looking classy!
Oh, my my!" they all said.
Too goddamn right I was looking classy. I'd fit right in at any black tie event, a ball, the Logies, whatever. Even though the jacket was brown...
I declared myself guilt of that horrific crime once more and let them shoot another round.
"Wow!
You look like an artist!
I've never seen you in a suit before... and I hate that."

And so the small talk rambled on for quite some time. They were impressed. I was looking good. It all continued in a rather similar fashion.
And then came the beer. Two jugs sped down to their foamy dregs, and the atmosphere began to droop. I sensed a heaviness in my pocket, and felt my ten dollar note struggling to get out. My chance to look cool.
"Hey guys, next jug's on the suit!" I proclaimed, shoving my hand into the depths of the suit and slipping out a crinkled blue note. The response, a round of general cheers and laughs. They were impressed. A few more noble promises of yet another jug arose from the table in reply, things were looking up.

We guzzled and drunk, pouring the frothy brew down our throats by the jugful. I began to lose my usually faint sense of awareness, and began to recognise only two things. Drinking or Not Drinking. I wasn't too fond of the Not Drinking thing, but luckily I didn't have to deal with too much of that.
So we had a laugh and we had a drink, good wholesome fun.

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I was trashed. Hammered. Fucked.

As always, there I was being an arsehole. That's just the way I am when I'm drunk. An arsehole.

I was called by my scruffy hippy friend while I was trying to explain my life story to my friends sister. I ignored him and continued weaving my tale, throwing in a few exaggerations to make it more impressive. He called again. I bid farewell, shook her hand, and told her I'd finish the story another day.
On our way out we hit the pisser. The walls were spinning slightly and I had a bit of a headache. It all hits when you stand up.
Eventually I staggered out the front door, my obviously under-age appearance surprising the bouncers out front. I was cackling at an obscure drunken joke the hippy cracked about a friend of ours, drawing copious amounts of attention toward me.

And we marched through the traffic jam and the crowded streets, yelling and joking and singing merry songs. Beer is a beautiful thing. Our teenage boisterous behaviour came to a cut as we reached the shining white beacon at the end of the street. Mc Donalds.
I eased myself down the wall until I reached a sit, refusing to enter. I don't eat that junk.

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The hippy didn't go inside either. I looked his way and demanded to know what he was doing. He claimed he was rolling a cigarette. It sure didn't look like that. The wind blew as he struck a match, sending it out immediately. He looked somewhat disheartened.
"That was my only match."
Amateur. And here it was, another chance to look cool. Not that I really cared what this dirtied mess of a person thought of me. I was more interested in this 'cigarette'.
"Need a light?"
I drew my matches from my pocket and aimed them right at him. He nodded. Pow, pow! I fired a match and held it to the thin cylinder of paper held between his lips. Then I blew it out.
"What the hell is that? You said you were rolling a cigarette!"
It was needle thin. Paper, he's smoking nothing but rolled up paper. Goddamn hippy.
"What? It is! It's just stylishly thin!"
I shook my head in disappointment and lit it with another match. Stylishly thin my arse. I rolled myself a sensible sized smoke and proceeded to light up. I'm not usually a smoker, but I just had to show this guy how a proper person does it.

We sat silently as the nicotine entered our blood-streams. He smoked his pathetic excuse for a cigarette proudly, flaunting each puff. I had mind to go and sit a few meters away from him. He wasn't doing justice to the suit. What would I think of a person with such fancy attire who sat next to a dirty boy in rags? I'd think he was mad.

Slowly boredom consumed my irritation and perhaps the nicotine helped calm me a little too. I finished my cigarette and sighed. Where the hell were my friends? Caught up in the 3 am Maccers rush of drunkards and junkies. Dammit. I was going insane. I turned to the hippy as an idea struck my mind. The dice!

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"I'll gamble you", I said excitedly.
"Huh? For what? You got nothing I want. Nothing."
Touché. He was probably right. I searched through my impoverished wallet, desperate to find maybe a ten cent piece. Anything. I just wanted the thrill of the roll. As I flicked through my cards, my eyes fell upon my old ID card, from back when I had long hair.
"My old ID card. For one of your beers back home."
"Let me see," I handed it to him. "Ba-ha-ha. That's classic. You're on!"
I didn't really want the beer. I had three left at home and would vomit if I drunk even one of them. I was in it for the glory of the win.
"I call odds"
Odds or evens, that's how we played. It may be crude, but it's simple, effective and great fun. No point holding up our fun with rules.
The two dice tumbled across th ground. Evens. My win
"Ha! Sucker. That beer is mine!"
The hippy scowled.
"Gah. Fine"

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The others emerged from their white light paradise. Mc Donald's. I don't eat that junk. But the smell. It got to me. My nostrils began to flare so they could get more of it in at a time. Food. Goddamn it, I wanted some food. I was ravenous, starving, utterly famished. I reached inside my jacket and the pocket was empty. My ten dollar note. I had spent it on beer. Sure, I felt cool when I did it. But I didn't feel so cool now that I had nothing to eat. Broke and hungry is not a good combination.

"Hey, hey", I said to my scruffy compadre, "How about you buy me a loaf of bread? I'll generously donate half of it to you."
Neither my questions nor my suggestive eyebrow movements seemed successful. But I couldn't give up, the option of bed without bread would be a nightmare come true.
I had to have this bread.
"I'll gamble you for it."
"Gamble? What's in it for me? There's no way your old ID card is worth a loaf of bread. What else you got?"
"Err, the dice! My lucky gambling dice!" I knew he wanted the dice, he had stolen them twice before and there was always a jealous pain in his eyes when I flashed them around.
"Bah. No dice, friend", he said, cackling at his joke.
There was no point fighting. Stubborn and dumb. That goddamn hippy. He wanted the dice, but there was no way I could make this bargain.
"Well. Something. Anything! Come on, there's got to be something you want for it. Anything I've got, I swear!"
"Anything. Deal", he said, then shook my hand. Whoops
"That jacket then. That jacket if I win, a loaf of the most
fantastic bread you've ever eaten if I lose".
This was a disaster. It was like another Chernobyl in my mind. Utter devastation. There was no way I could back out now. This goddamn son of a bitch would never let me down. Neither would anybody else. I wouldn't be the cool kid in the jacket, I'd be the loser who backs down on deals, and who can't handle a bet. There was no way out.
But it was worth a try.
"Hey, actually, I'm not so sure. I think I'll vomit if I eat".
Lies were dripping from my mouth.
"Ha. You scumbag! You wuss! You said anything. That includes
the jacket. And I swear I'll fight you to the death if you
back down!"
A bit of a lie. In fact, a lot of a lie. He'd slap me at most. It was the taunts I was more worried about. I can take a little pain.
So, reluctantly, "Fine. It's a bet."

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The biggest gamble of my life. He was grinning from ear to ear. Who wouldn't be if here was a 50% chance of scoring a neat suit jacket?
"I call evens", he called.
"Hey hey. Slow down there. You started the bet, so I get to call. Rules are rules. So, I call evens."
He scowled again.

I handed the filthy bastard my lucky gambling dice. Please be lucky this time dice, I thought, just this once...

The two gleaming white cubes spun out of his hands, proudly displaying their faces. They hit the concrete and bounced at slightly different angles, each dice following its own path. Lady Luck was surely witness to this spectacle, floating above us, intently staring as these two luminous cubes bounced through the probabilities. This was something she would not have missed. My chest tightened as I witnessed this spectacle in slow motion. It was intense. And somewhere above us, an advanced alien race observing us from space noted just how primitive the inhabitants of Earth were, and decided not to bother us for another billion years or so. Still entertained by small pieces of plastic. And those small white plastic dice tumbled and rolled, slowly nearing a halt.
Then they stopped.
Odds.
Fuck.

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I scowled. Beaten. The suit jacket was all his. I had lost.
I looked at him, standing there laughing at me. Pointing and laughing. He was salting the wound now. I was in agony. The best thing I had ever owned, lost, and to this dirty creature. How would I ever be cool without it? How would I feel standing jacket-less in the cold freezing night while my compadres stood mocking? I was an embarrassment, a disgrace.

As I watched the mocking expression on his chubby face I began to resent him. Why did he deserve the suit jacket? I doubt it would even fit him, it would be far too large. He didn't even care about the jacket. He didn't deserve it. I deserved it. It was rightfully mine. And I should keep it.

I swivelled on my feet, the tail of my suit flying high behind me as I did. I was hurtling along in seconds, my feet pushed me faster and faster. Footsteps sounded behind me, their pace quickening with mine. He was hot on my heels, this hippy.
"Gah, I'll get you, you dirty son of a bitch!"

Foot by foot, I flew along. I've never run so fast in my entire life. There's never been such an important reason to run. In such a small amount of time, I had become so deeply attached. The suit-jacket had become my life.

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I dodged, ducked and dipped around my surroundings. I threw a left, running down a narrow alley. Footsteps were slapping down hard on the asphalt behind me, he was still in close proximity. It was dark. Very dark. No moon, and certainly no lights down this dingy little alleyway. I was worried about my footing. One false move and the jacket was his. I'd imagine there would be a fairly brutal beating as well. These hippies, they're renowned for their violent ways.
I squinted, desperately trying to focus my eyes. I made out an object in front of my and dodged it. I heard a grunt, a flurry of footsteps and the sound of a cardboard box being kicked out of the way a couple of seconds later.

The light at the end of the tunnel! I saw it! A gleaming white light of hope at the end of this dark little alley. My hopes picked up. I wouldn't have to worry about my footing any more.

As I ran out on to the street I glanced behind me. I could see the hippy, red-faced and sweating, hot on my heels.

And then. Blunt paint. My torso swivelled to the side, my arms flung out. The world span for a second before I landed flat on my back, on the hard concrete footpath. I had clipped the side of a post-box. Defeat.

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A minute later I was up on my feet, clutching my head. That kind-hearted hippy had helped me up. I stood witness as he held up the jacket and examined it. The back was in tatters, it was shredded and torn by the force of my body sliding along the gravel. The silk lining on the inside was visible from the back, it was riddled with holes.
It had been destroyed,
my dream,
his dream,
the suit-jacket.



Stop.

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