Monday, July 25, 2005
Summer Girls
It was a small, drunk girl with a short haircut and a very short denim skirt who thought I was out of place; she had been drinking champagne from a plastic cup until she saw me walk in to the Magnum Photo party. Now she was pouring champagne on my lapels.
"Wearing a suit to an art party is punk rock," I told her.
She smiled the drunk smile of girls who are drunk and smiling. "Where did you go to business school? I went to art school. Where did you say you went?"
"I didn't say I went, and that's because I didn't. If I was an investment banker I wouldn't be wearing this suit. I would be in chinos and have a blue shirt with an open collar."
"Oh. You're one of those," she said. I was pretty sure she didn't have any idea what she meant either. "So you have to wear a suit everyday?"
"Right. Actually, I don't have to wear a suit to work at all. I wear
suits because I want to wear suits. And I hate business casual. It makes all men look like they have supporting roles on the Cosby show."
"You don't think you lose your identity to the suit? Become just A Suit." Her eyes were rolling around now. She hooked her arms around my neck, and threw a leg around my hips. I was pretty sure that if I found a way to untangle myself she would fall over.
"Look around. I am the only person here in suit. It is individuating. Liberating. Rebellious. Punk rock."
"But aren't suits coming back? Won't that ruin your ability to rebel with businesswear?"
"Yes. They are back. Now I am an old school punk."
She moved her lips toward mine. I tilted my head upwards and she kissed my chin. I frowned. She took this as a sign of encouragement.
"I haven't had anything to drink yet. And I need to go look for my friends, will you excuse me?"
She kissed my jawline again. "Oh, you want to get away from me? Don't think it will be that easy. I'm going to lick your neck."
And so she did. I stepped out of her grip and tried not to notice the other people at the party noticing the guy who walked into the art party in a suit and found himself carrying a girl who was licking his neck.
"Wearing a suit to an art party is punk rock," I told her.
She smiled the drunk smile of girls who are drunk and smiling. "Where did you go to business school? I went to art school. Where did you say you went?"
"I didn't say I went, and that's because I didn't. If I was an investment banker I wouldn't be wearing this suit. I would be in chinos and have a blue shirt with an open collar."
"Oh. You're one of those," she said. I was pretty sure she didn't have any idea what she meant either. "So you have to wear a suit everyday?"
"Right. Actually, I don't have to wear a suit to work at all. I wear
suits because I want to wear suits. And I hate business casual. It makes all men look like they have supporting roles on the Cosby show."
"You don't think you lose your identity to the suit? Become just A Suit." Her eyes were rolling around now. She hooked her arms around my neck, and threw a leg around my hips. I was pretty sure that if I found a way to untangle myself she would fall over.
"Look around. I am the only person here in suit. It is individuating. Liberating. Rebellious. Punk rock."
"But aren't suits coming back? Won't that ruin your ability to rebel with businesswear?"
"Yes. They are back. Now I am an old school punk."
She moved her lips toward mine. I tilted my head upwards and she kissed my chin. I frowned. She took this as a sign of encouragement.
"I haven't had anything to drink yet. And I need to go look for my friends, will you excuse me?"
She kissed my jawline again. "Oh, you want to get away from me? Don't think it will be that easy. I'm going to lick your neck."
And so she did. I stepped out of her grip and tried not to notice the other people at the party noticing the guy who walked into the art party in a suit and found himself carrying a girl who was licking his neck.
