Sherlock, Cupido, Ladies with long yellow hair and the Chanel jacket.

Sometimes there are things that can make you feel fuzzy. You think about it every day and night. The image keeps hunting you. The air around it isn't just air anymore. It becomes something more than it is on its own. And on its own it's more than anything else. It becomes a representation of all the fuzzy feelings you've ever had in your life and before you know it, you've made an aureole hang above it.

The danger of this is that the line of fuzzy can steep down ones it redeemed itself. The thing of interest can become a big disappointment when you can (almost) grab it. The fuzz surrounding it can spoil the thing within. You get over it, because the thought about it was better than the actual thing. You suddenly realize that it became something more, but in otherways something different and therefore something less than it used to be (basically I've just described the plottwist of I Love Dick... sort of).

 Sometimes something presents itself as the best thing ever. Although the drive behind this is not that the something presents itself as the best thing ever, but we do. Someone judged the something and said to himself: "This is the best thing ever!", and so it is. But when you look at it, after the other has glorified it, you can't always help but feel a bit disappointed.

This is what I mostly get when seeing some paintings in real life. Take for instance The Night Watch by Rembrandt van Rijn. I think there's a bigger circus surrounding it than that the painting depicts. A study showed that the average visiter of the Louvre takes about 5 seconds to look at the Mona Lisa (if you dare to take the brave journey through the masses of tourists). There's this drive surrounding us that we ought to have seen these paintings, because they are the best thing ever. However who've concluded that? Not saying that I could do it better, but somewhere along the line they've turned these paintings into caricatures (quite literally sometimes). We stand in masses before a painting, because everyone tells us to do so. It's almost a crime if you haven't seen it in real life. It's become a marking point where people can be flabbergasted about the fact that no, you haven't seen the Mona Lisa in real. There's more nothing surrounding it than actual involvement.

Grace Kelly, detail from The Night Watch by Rembrandt van Rijn, Chanel yellow and Candy Cotton green.

So I was quite nervous when I went to a Chanel Exhibition (The Chanel Legend in Gemeente Museum Den Haag). Not because of the exhibition, because what could ever go wrong with Chanel garments displayed on a mannequin? No, I was nervous because during the exhibition you've got a chance to actually wear a Chanel jacket. Not a fake, but a real Chanel jacket. For some this might be a "whatever", but for me this is an aureole hanging above it (fuzzy feelings, fuzzy feelings). I was so scared to make the thing more than the thing is, because lets face it, everyone makes the things by Chanel more than a thing, that the air surrounding it was more worth than the actual thing... if you get what I mean. Basically I'd dressed myself up for a jacket (ah, but not just any oridinary jacket). It's sort of weird when you think about it. But then again, as my dad pointed out to me, everything is. But that's something for another time.

I'd recommend you all to go to the exhibition if you happen to be in the neighborhood. However it's smaller than anticipated and you should check out other exhibitions within the museum. It was all very 1930's esque. The museum, not the other exhibitions. Although I find the exterior grotesque, the interior is quite pleasing.

The perfume, the jacket & me. *sigh*  

Lets get back to Jacket-talk. Alright, the moment was there. I stood in a line of excited girls, me being part of that excitement, and looked at this other excited girl who was wearing the jacket. Well, there were two of them, but they both are classified as the. I found it a bit embarissing to be honest, because all those girls are watching you while it ought to be a special moment between me, the jacket and the security guard (the jacket was attached to a sort of string which would go off if you pulled it... so no chance for bringing it home with me). 

It was finally my turn. So I went up the stage (no exaggeration, there actually was a stage) and reached for the jacket. My fingers touched the fabric and a shiver went down my spine (well, that is a exaggeration). But what I wanted to say is that the jacket intensified my fuzzy feelings. So now I'm burdened to buy myself a jacket. It could also be that I know that this jacket's physically in touch but practically not in my wardrobe. So the fuzzy feelings are intensified because the thing I want is in reach but not actually in my possession. I'd go with the first one. 


Mona Lisa & Green Cotton Candy.

When I took the jacket off (one of the hardest things I've ever needed to do in my life), it struck me that we -the jacket & me- had a Moulin Rouge going on. Another thing that struck me was that I could always go to a Chanel shop and try things on. So in retrospect, how special was this occasion?

Love,
Dominque