So I bought this shirt at Zara in Athens. Or was it the Zara in Barcelona? As Dublin didn't have one, we visited Zara stores in every major European city we made it to over the past two years. It's a fitted, striped, shirt with tight sleeves and a big collar. I'm no fashion guru, but it seems to playfully harken back to the seventies.
I've got a certain geeky/artiste/preppy sartorial combination which is, if nothing else, conventional. Aside from this shirt, my most exciting garment is a gas attendant's shirt with snaps that reads 'Janice' on the name tag. I wear that, and savour the irony (Janice must have been a big girl).
But this shirt is too cool for me. I put it on occasionally, walk around the apartment, and sulkingly take it off. This shirt knows about cars and wine, it has a timeshare at Whistler and a girlfriend with implants. Me, I just feel like a chotch.
Lacking a digital camera, I've scanned my shirt. Note the two buttons at the collar. That alone makes it too cool for me.