Afternoon Quickie

You guys won’t believe what happened to me this afternoon, as I still can’t process this random and almost surreal moment. I'm talking Dali surreal...

Today at approximately 2:30 p.m., I found myself rushing off to meet my boyfriend at an amazing photographer’s studio to check out the results from a recent collaborative shoot. On my way to the studio, I found myself gabbing on my mobile with a friend that had just returned to the States from Hong Kong and unfortunately was also being detained in U.S. Customs due to his French passport (long story but he made it home safely). Simultaneously, I was carelessly walking and rummaging through my open Louis Vuitton Broadway (the gay man’s Chanel Classic Bag) trying to find a semi-important number that I had jotted down on a random slip of paper. It was like trying to find a needle in a haystack amongst the random receipts, bank withdrawal slips and chewing gum wrappers. According to my accountant I should always save all of my receipts. However, I still haven’t figured out how to properly transfer them all into the bright red folder that my intern has clearly marked “RECEIPTS”. One day soon I will get around to finally filing them away properly. But at that particular moment, I was a walking and talking mess…

Then all of sudden as I whipped around the corner headed to my destination (Lafayette and Bond for those of you who are familiar with Manhattan) I bumped dead smack into a slender gray haired man and his lovely waif-like Japanese assistant. The only reason I knew her to be Japanese was the fact that she began to feverishly apologize “to me” in her native tongue for almost knocking her to the ground. I must admit that I just assumed she was this guy's assistant as she was carrying a pile of folders, a shopping bag and a purse while the older gentleman was completely care free. But before the entire moment could truly register, I noticed that the care free gray haired guy with this apologetic assistant was none other than “Malcolm McLaren”. My mouth at this point was wide open. They both must have truly thought me to be completely bonkers. All time and motion in the surreal world of Mal Sirrah literally stopped.

Can you imagine? The blog post, the inspiration, the transporting to Paris, fashion/style doppelganger, namesake, the whole bit - - - I couldn’t say a word. All I could do was to make a pitiful attempt at pulling myself together with some resemblance of dignity as I quickly and sheepishly ran off… By the time, I reached my boyfriend at the photographer’s studio I was a rambling fool (as my loyal CS&B readers know – this is not a stretch)… They both smiled at me (while shooting “What is he talking about?” looks towards each other) and continued selecting the photos for the editorial. I sat there quietly as Malcolm McLaren’s “Buffalo Girls” played in my head and break dancers hip-hopped across the photographer’s images. Afternoons like these kiddies can only happen in New York (or Paris).

You all must view the video below as Malcolm McLaren discusses art and commerce. I post the following for more reasons than any of you can ever imagine at this very crucial juncture in the development of the Mal Sirrah brand: