🥼Chekhov's Crème Clothing
On Falling Short of a Future-Self Fantasy
“Our secret is that we still have an epic longing to be more than what we are, to multiply ourselves, to integrate all the identities and action-fantasies we have experienced, above all to keep experimenting with our lives all the way to Forest Lawn to see how much we can make real out of that prolific American Dream machine within. Let me say it plainly: Our true projects have finally been ourselves.
. . . What we usually refuse to acknowledge in our increasingly defensive posture is that we chose our royal inner trip out of an excess of blind faith, out of a reach beyond what we might have had if our desires had been less grandiose.”
—Seymour Krim’s essay, “For My Brothers and Sisters in the Failure Business”
via Phillip Lopate’s The Art of the Personal Essay
A few months ago, I ventured into foreign territory to donate blood: the Upper East Side. It’s a region of the city that’s awkward to get to from most other neighborhoods, and there’s usually no practical reason to go unless you live there, you are meeting someone who lives there for coffee or a bite, or you are heading to The Met.
You know you’re on the UES when all of a sudden nondescript sweats and black puffy coats transform into a paragon of stealth wealth and quiet luxury:1 cashmere sweater sets, skirts with kitten heels for women or khaki pants and boat shoes for men, or a gaggle of private school boys with perfect TikTok curls laughing at something while walking past you, confident and secure that the world is already theirs.
You also start encountering stores like this: