Friends' clothes

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An(n)a was born in the Caribbean and spent her childhood a 15-minute drive away from the beach where she never bothered to learn how to swim. She once won a year's supply of Chick-Fil-A sandwiches on a local game show. Much like a puppy around new friends, she doesn't know how to hide her enthusiasm. She lives in New York where she goes to school and moonlights as an astrologer (not really).

Lurk a little. Go on.

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January 22, 2012

Friends’ clothes

People have scents. They’re a combination of their sweat and perfumes, a cocktail of laundry liquids and body lotions and skin. I can’t describe most of the scents I know but I can bring them to mind the way I can a burning candle or a tall margarita glass with beads of condensation running down its rims.

I own a few of Sylvia’s shirts and coats. I have in my possession a Columbia sweater Marcus loaned me.

The thing I love about owning clothes that are not my own, or knowing that my clothing can be found on other bodies, is how much more than cotton or polyester the pieces become. It’s like wearing a uniform, being connected to some abstract sense of belonging, carrying stories sewn in fabric and painted on buttons.