Revolution Evolution

Suit Yourself

Picked m'self up a spanking new Hugo Boss to celebrate my one-year with the big C. Inaugurated it with this combo of a Thomas Pink pink shirt, and a blue Perry Ellis Portfolio tie. Now, here's my point - wearing a pink shirt and a blue tie is a multi-dimensional statement. To me, it was just an interesting pastel-ish combo, but it stirred up a rather interesting debate. Is it - a blend of the feminine emotional side of a guy, with a touch of masculine aggression? Is it - a way to tone down the embarrasment of semi-in-closetness, with a stroke of trademark Hetero-ego? Is it the mark of a metro-sexual? Is it blueberry with strawberry coolwhip? All in all - my peeps have way too much free-time on their hands.

In other news, the arrivals area of an international terminal is a fascinating place. Utterly fascinating. Doesn't it have a catwalk-kinda feel to it? First of all, they guard the incoming passengers behind closed doors and walls as if they were supermodels about to emerge with a haute-couture spring collection. On the other side of these doors, are a group of eager, enthusiastic and comparatively well-rested and groomed 'fans' who are, for some reason, behind a rather pointless steel barricade. And although they are travel-weary and cranky while behind the doors at baggage claim - once the Airplane Posse is out in the open, with their oversized trolley of baggage - it doesn't matter how bad they look - they're on display now.

This is their moment to shine.

They do the walk.

Their wild imagination can almost visualize clickety-cameras, frantic paparazzi, thong-throwing crazed women. They have a hundred sixty two people staring them down, with pretty much a hundred sixty two of them going "That's not him".

You see all varieties. The business traveler looking for the car pick-up placcard with his name mispelt for the eleventh name - Won't they ever get it right? The hot mom (who was hot 30 years ago, and now she's just ... not), who just re-did her makeup in the restroom before baggage claim, heading over with a mile-sized smile to her rather embarassed son and his shocked friend. The people who start fake cellphone calls as they walk on their battery-dead phone, just so they appear like ultra-busy businessmen to the waiting flock.

While trying their level best to look cool in their wrinkled-wear as they do their little-turn on the catwalk, their eyes search, rather casually and matter-of-factly, through the crowd for their consort/ride/family/friend. Their casual glance turns slowly and painfully into a nervous hunt. Oh oh. The catwalks over. They're in front of the crowd. Pointless announcements are being made over the public-address system. Their thoughts are racing. "Shoot. No one's here. And I'm being stared down. Everyone here thinks I'm a loser whose come halfway across the world, to be stood up, in an international intrigue-type airport drama. They're still staring at me. Drat, what must I do. Should I do the pretend wave as if someone's here. Ok... Damn, now everyone's looking back to see who I'm waving it. Why do they care? Idiots. Now they know that I'm not waving at anyone. Now they think I'm a loser who sees things. Crap! This is not good. Maybe I'll just mosey over to the coffee shop, while I still have my dignity".

Too late, sonny boy. They've already seen your 'Hello Gooseberry' boxers sticking out of your overstuffed fake-Delsey. Dignity is a rumor to you.

Ah. Airports. Life would be rather grounded without them.