What I Think About When I Think about Wearing Leather.

The wearing of leather is an art form.

Rarely the subject of whim, it’s attended instead by planning and forethought.

Leather remains pure, and like a good sentence, it has context, structure and meaning, it tells you the story.

It’s both subversive and timeless. Some people will avoid you, will not give eye contact. And when you wear leather you control this. You purposefully affect the people around you. Socially it’s both selecting and magnetic.

When I wear leather I’m planning to stand out. Planning to shock . I know heads will turn. Because leather means control, leather screams power and attraction. Social norms crack like a cane across the thigh. Leather clad bodies roar at you and force your attention with a sexuality at once animal and regal.  Transcending our overexposure to sexual imagery, leather whispers a deeper philosophy, reminding us that power is key and King.

Leather is in the cool zone that’s just outside the behaviour box.  We are not in Kansas anymore. Not in San Francisco.

We are deep in the other, far older place. The quiet, subversive and historically deviant  British subconscious. A subspace of aesthetics, of class and control, the source of many shades of creativity, where power dressing  still rules. The smell of leather urges us to peek again behind that black door where servants are masters and revolution and anarchy reside.

Unlike  the folly of latex, youthfully elastic but perished within months, leather abides.  

Leather gets  better with age.