Wednesday, July 21, 2010
I am a sheep. I thought I was an individual, but it turns out that I am, in fact, a sheep. This realization dawned on me last night while watching Miss Texas 1977 at The Waiting Room in Long st, CT.
Until I walked into The Waiting Room’s packed space, I’d been under the clearly delusional impression that I was a man of discerning taste. A man whose sartorial and musical leanings, coupled with his choice of profession, made him someone who stood out from the hoi polloi. But no.
Spread out before me at The Waiting Room – leaning against the walls or sitting on the old sofas and chairs – were a whole bunch of people who looked like me. I mean exactly like me. It was a sea of vintage cowboys shirts, old skool raw denim Wrangler jeans (with turns ups, obviously), limited edition adidas originals sneakers, tweed flat caps, Fred Perry jumpers… and beards. And they were all tapping their feet to the Monster Of Folk track playing as a teaser to the Miss Texas 1977 set. Needless to say one of my favourite recent albums is MOF. I probably recognized at least half the crowd as being involved in media in some way as well.
It fucking freaked me out.
There seemed no best case scenario to this. Either the hoi polloi had become a lot more switched on… or I wasn’t quite as unique as I’d imagined. Mom, you lied to me all these years.
Adding a little irony to the mix was the fact that I was there with my mate Dave The Photographer. Dave and I go back to our days working on SL magazine in the late ‘90s. And Dave once had an exhibition of portraits called “People Who Other People Say Look Like Me”. I was one of the people Dave chose to photograph for that. Everyone else in the room looked like me… and I looked like Dave.
I’m not sure why this has all bothered me so much. I should be… I am… smart enough to know that we all exist within social groups of similar leanings. It’s just that when you see all those similar leanings in one room, it’s a little weird.
To cope with this, Dave and I both ordered double Jamesons with a splash of water. Downstairs at the burger joint Royale we’d also both ordered their “Federale” burger on wheat free buns and mixed chips. How could we not. They’re just so damn good.