The initial spike of terror had passed– Edward was still standing in the bathroom, his glass lay shattered on the ground and the water was still running. His toothbrush lay in the sink forgotten. The thing he had spotted in the mirror– the shadow of a dark uniform trenchcoat hanging on the inside of the linen closet door– still hung there innocently.
Edward sucked in a deep breath but his chest still felt tight, was still contracted with fear. He felt like he was floating outside his body, but both his feet felt like blocks of concrete, immovable and heavy. Cold sweat burst out across his skin and, despite the sweater and lounge pants, he started shivering uncontrollably as his weight became impossible to hold up and Ed sunk to the ground.
He tried to breathe again, but now it was like his chest had locked up entirely, and the fuzzy threads of panic began to weave in over the first jagged edges of fear, softening them down but somehow being so much worse than his initial fight-or-flight reaction.
Roy’s voice was muffled as Edward stared at the tiled ground and broken glass. He was distantly aware that he had put his hands on his head, but couldn’t seem to remember doing it, nor could he really feel them.
Another sucked in breath and his chest felt like it was screaming in pain.
Roy’s knees came into the darkened edges of Edward’s vision. It seemed like a black sheet had been tossed over him– cutting him off from the world while it went on around him and left him alone, left him with nothing but crawling fear and a slow sense of suffocation.
“Edward, you’re pulling your hair out. Come on, let go of your hair–”
Roy’s hands pulled his fingers away from his hair. Edward’s hearing still felt like pillows were pressed against his ears, but there was no mistaking that the low keening noise that left his mouth was his own.
“Edward, do you know where you are?”
Ed couldn’t speak, couldn’t swallow past the knot that had twisted up in his throat. He managed a trembling nod instead.
“That’s good. You’re having a panic attack, Edward,” Roy explained quietly, suddenly very close to his ear. “You’re hyperventilating right now. That’s why your chest hurts right now. You’re inhaling and forgetting to exhale. Why don’t you try that, alright? Close your eyes and focus on your breathing.”
Ed– obeyed. He closed his eyes, blotting out the world outside himself and focusing on the fire that was raging inside his lungs. He opened his mouth and tried to breathe again, but it was like the mechanics were broken, like the time the hydraulics in his automail had slipped and the whole thing had locked up and Winry had called him an idiot a million times while trying to fix it.
“It’s alright,” Roy said in his ear, and it was then that Edward realized he’d been whimpering something that sounded approximately like “I’m sorry” over and over again. “It’s okay. You’re okay. There’s nothing to be sorry for. Just keep trying.”
Edward nodded numbly, hacking in another shuddering breath as he fought the salt-sting of tears in his eyes. He was exhausted, too exhausted to fight against the black rot that was building up inside him, weakening him from the inside out and making him fall apart. He was fighting his way up an oil slick and losing, and–
“I know,” Roy was speaking in his ear again. “I know it’s hard. I know this feels like it’s never going to be over but it’ll pass, Edward. I promise you that you can get through this.”
Ed gasped again, trying and nodding and outright panting like a dog, drool sliding out of his mouth as he did. He tried to swallow again and failed, but Roy didn’t seem to mind the drool as he wiped Edward’s face with a wet dishrag. Warm, slightly damp hands suddenly skirted Ed’s sides, pressing in comfortingly as chills overtook him again and he began to shake.
“Focus on breathing, Edward,” Roy murmured, “That’s what you need to do. Try breathing through your nose. Go slow.”
Ed obeyed again. He closed his mouth, inhaling again before finally, finally exhaling. It felt like goddamn relief, like an overinflated balloon being released and left, stretched and worn out on the floor. The pressure in his chest eased and Edward did it again, breathing in sharply before exhaling. The pounding in his ears suddenly subsided, and it took Ed a second to realize just how close he had been to passing out entirely.
“Good,” Roy murmured, “Keep going. Keep on.”
Ed did so, focusing his attention away from the bleak hopelessness that threatened to drag him back into a web of panic. It was a struggle, and by the time his breathing was under control again, he felt like he’d been swimming upstream for hours. His muscles were burning from exertion and he’d fallen completely limp, sagging into Roy’s arms.
“It’s okay,” Roy was saying softly into his ear, and Edward realized that he was making small, half-broken sobbing sounds into the fabric of Roy’s shirt. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”
It didn’t, it really didn’t, but Ed nodded anyway, suddenly feeling his hands for the first time in–
Well. Time felt a bit skewed. He felt like he’d been there for hours, but realistically Ed knew that wasn’t right, that Roy would have taken him to a hospital if he hadn’t been properly breathing for hours.
Edward opened his eyes, blinking against the harsh light of the bathroom. The glass pieces of his rinsing cup had been scattered across the floor. His hands were fisted in the front of Roy’s shirt. Edward managed a small start at the sight of the blood smears in the fabric, then looked up at Roy. The older man’s dark eyes watched him steadily, albeit with obvious worry.
“You put your hand down in the glass before I could stop you.”
Ed didn’t remember that. He couldn’t remember feeling anything, just hearing Roy’s voice and wallowing in the dark panic that had arisen inside him, and–
Ed raised his eyes up to the linen closet. The trench coat still hung innocently inside, one sleeve hanging out from where it had been shoved. Roy followed his gaze to the closet, narrowing his eyes at the darkness within.
“Was it the door?” he asked quietly, arms strengthening around Ed, “Edward, was it the Gate?”
Ed’s breath hitched. He’d thought the coat was– he had thought it was just something behind him, here in the safety of Roy’s house. The Gate hadn’t even been something he’d considered, but it could’ve– maybe it was–
“Breathe,” Roy suddenly instructed, and Edward realized he was started to hyperventilate again. “Come on, you’ve got this. Breathe.”
Ed forced himself to breathe through his nose against for a few moments, tearing his eyes away from the closet and back to Roy. Roy nodded at him, using one hand to smooth his bangs back from his damp face.
“Alright,” he said softly, “We can talk about the whys later. Let’s get you out of here.”
Roy stood and pulled Edward up by his elbows. His knees were like jelly, and he felt like a drunken toddler as Roy half-walked, half-carried him out of the bathroom and into the bedroom down the hall. Edward looked around the room, eyes widening at the discarded uniform on the dresser as he realized that he was in Roy’s bedroom. Roy, for his part, didn’t seem perturbed that he had invited Ed into his private space, instead seating Edward on the bed. He grabbed the slightly rumpled comforter and helped to drag it around Ed’s shoulders, and it was then that Edward realized just how damn cold he felt.
“It’s adrenaline,” Roy explained, sitting down beside Edward, “Why you’re feeling like this. You’re bottoming out after a rush of panic. You’ll be okay, just stay in the blanket.”
Ed worked his mouth for several long moments. He felt… battered, Broken. Like someone had hit him with a car and backed up and hit him again just for fun.
“I’m sorry,” he managed, the first time he felt coherent in forever. “I don’t– I broke–”
“It’s alright,” Roy said soothingly, “A cup can be replaced or fixed. That’s not what I’m worried about.”
Okay this went from a three paragraph blurb to an excerpt out of a full story. I’ll sit down and actually write a full story that actually makes sense I suppose, because this one meanders from Ed brushing his teeth at Roy’s house to not being accustomed to Roy’s bedroom? I literally wrote this in the post and made shit up along the way. Wanted to explore Edward not getting through his many traumas as effortlessly as the animes tend to portray and then it turned into this mess.
This post will discuss events of Rogue One; beware spoilers.
Lyra Erso, the wife of scientist Galen and mother to daughter Jyn in Rogue One, appears on screen for only a few minutes. Very little is known about her beyond roughly sketched out roles: mother, wife, geologist and cartographer (known only through ancillary media), rebel-sympathiser, believer. Jyn’s journey is driven by her relationship with her father - then later the adoptive father substitute of Saw Gerrera - with little acknowledgement of her mother despite Lyra’s desperate self-sacrifice in a vain attempt to protect her family. As a result, Lyra’s most lasting impression is of her faith and trust in the Force. This aspect of her character, and its influence, is expressed primarily through (surprise!) costume.
L: Lyra Erso from Rogue One: The Ultimate Visual Guide, this unseen costume is slightly different from the costume seen on Lah’mu. Her more severe hair paired with the coat of her overrobe and overskirt both suggest that this was a scene set earlier - possibly shortly after the Ersos fled the Empire - that was cut. C: Lyra Erso on Lah’mu as seen in Rogue One. (Unfortunately I have not been able to find a clear full-length shot.) R:Erso Family version 2a detail, Glyn Dillon. Here Lyra is shown with a red headscarf to match her sash and overskirt.
When we meet Lyra she is living with her family on Lah’mu, eking out a farm life as they hide from the Empire. Lyra’s clothes are rough and well-worn and generally unremarkable, except for their explicit mirroring of Jedi robes. The layering, though practical in this environment, evokes the layers of the typical Jedi robes, most obviously in the crossover of her tunic and skirts. The high-necked underskirt calls back to Ben Kenobi in A New Hope - a man surrendered to an alien environment, hiding from his history and true identity. Not entirely unlike Lyra and her family. With a kyber crystal necklace that she passes on to Jyn, it is unmistakeable that Lyra believes in the Force and follows some tradition akin to the Jedi Order even if she is not a Jedi herself. (In early drafts of the script, Lyra was a one-time Jedi which would have pushed the precise implication of this costume in a slightly different, more heartbreaking direction.)
In a wider level, there must be loads of people who just believe in the Jedi and believe in the Force and have been affected by it. If it’s a really ancient religion, as Obi-Wan Kenobi said, it’s got to exist in thousands or millions of people in the galaxy. - Gareth Edwards [x]
Lyra’s colours are soft and earthy, not unlike those favoured by the Rebel Alliance, blending with the dark landscape. Except for the bright slash of red in her overskirt. The Ultimate Visual Guide describes this as a ‘red sash of enlightenment’. Worn over a heavy padded underskirt and trousers, this overskirt and sash are a statement rather than practical, and given that at one point it was layered under a darker overskirt it is a loud and emphatic statement. Given Lyra’s actions when Krennic comes to abduct her family, she is a woman tired of hiding.
This over skirt is similar to the hakama worn by Japanese Shinto miko or shrine maidens: a pleated skirt overlapped and tied at the waist. Today miko perform typical temple duties, but at one point they performed shamanistic roles not unlike the Ancient Greek Sybils: entering trances to communicate with spirits of the dead, elements or land in order to learn, purify and share divine revelation. In a less literal sense, this could translate to Lyra as a geologist, a scientist that has learned to understand rocks and the land; to let the world speak to her, even if it is not directly through the Force. Faith and science combined to allow a greater understanding and an open mind. A similar garment is worn by Chirrut Imwe, a Guardian of the Whills, though his overall costume appears to be more inspired by a fusion Chinese hanfu and Buddhist robes.
L: A modern miko or shrine maiden wearing the red hakama. C: Chirrut & Baze concept art, Glyn Dillon. ‘Baze is like a combination of all your favourite elements of star wars characters. the partial armour, the boiler suit, the cool gun, the backpack. Gareth really responded well to the red, so we put some red in Chirrut as well.’- Dave Crossman. As principal heroes, Baze and Chirrut’s looks will have been in development long before Lyra’s. The presence of this red and its importance is something that may have been seeded through the production’s costumes from this starting point. R: Chirrut Imwe in Rogue One. Note the layered skirts and sash akin to Lyra’s.
Although it is not stated if Lyra is in anyway connected to the Whills, or if she follows some other related faith, the similarity in these garments implies that either she has had some association or it is a widely adopted colour. On Jedha we see a very great many pilgrims, priests and guardians wearing this same shade of red in a number of different garments.
Red is a colour that typically holds Dark Side connotations in Star Wars, though has also appeared in association with ambiguous but self-serving Night Sisters. Here, however, it appears to be a positive expression of connection. In China and India red is a colour of good fortune. In Buddhism, a real world influence on the Jedi Order, red is considered to have been a colour that emanated from Buddha when he achieved enlightenment, and a colour of protection against evil, a belief shared by Shinto. Red being used by these faith-based Force religions shows a difference in approach - a multitude of approaches - to the Force, to understanding and engaging with the Force and the wider galaxy.
Top: Nightsister concept art from The Clone Wars Bottom: Silvannie Phest, ‘Part of a colony of Anomids that have recently converted to become disciples of the Whills,’ Star Wars Ultimate Visual Guide. One of many disciples and pilgrims of the Whills seen on Jedha.
We see Lyra Erso once more in Rogue One - briefly, fleetingly in Jyn’s dreams, shrouded in shadow when she doesn’t have her back to the camera (and Jyn, as this sequence is shot from Jyn’s perspective.) A clearer image of this costume appears in the Ultimate Visual Guide (above.) This costume appears to be a fascinating intersection of Republic and fledgling Imperial fashions, a blending of styles and regimes. This short scene - a memory, really - took place roughly two years after the fall of the Republic. In that time Palpatine, a terrifyingly savvy and aware politician and Sith, would have implemented changes and redirection in fashion and textiles industries with effects rippling out from Coruscant and the core planets. Just like all other industries, fashion is a tool to be utilised and maximised to ultimate efficiency and reward, but in this case to control and manipulate the populace.
Lyra Erso on Coruscant, approximately 2 years after the fall of the Republic. In an early concept painting of this sequence, Lyra was depicted wearing a sari.
In 1930 Mussolini stated, “Any power… is destined to fall before fashion. If fashion says skirts are short, you will not succeed in lengthening them, even with the guillotine.“ In both fascist Italy and Nazi Germany, boards were formed to promote and enforce national fashions, to propagate conformity to their respective ideals: fashion was recognised as a key lynchpin for rapid social and cultural change. In Germany this led to a promotion of traditional and subdued wear, a push for modesty away from the extravagance and vanities of the French, idealising history. In Italy, however, it was the avant garde and modern that was hailed in fashionable circles, architecture and fashion shifting hand in hand. There was a search to control, measure and literally shape the body to achieve the Italian ideal future by fusing science and fashion. Imports and influences from other countries were banned in order to elevate purely Italian lifestyles.
OMG IT’S A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE. THANK U PROFESSIONAL MAKE-UP COP
Return of the prodigal son. The fuck were you thinking running away into the night you dumbass? Hopefully you have learned your lesson. Stop the thousand-yard-stare immediately.
-They paint the world full of shadows and tell their children to stay close to the light..
-..because in the darkness there be dragons. But it isn’t true. In the darkness..
-..there is freedom.
UGH. You know what else is in the darkness, Neo? Fucking starvation. Don’t you dare run away again before topping your career. After that, godspeed.
Yea thanks for the tip, professional make-up cop 2.0. We’ll know better than to jerk off the wolf next time.
Oh man.. this brings back so many memories </3 Truly your mother’s son. (I’m acting like Victoria has died, she hasn’t, I’m just feeling very emo about her becoming an elder).
LOL a romance sim artist, hot take there Gunther. Def preferable to that 20 lovers shit tho so good job!
Jojo Union: The Truth Is Out There.
-Good god, who do I have to fuck to get some interplanetary d around here?
Not Stephen Tinker if that’s what you’re thinking/hoping for.
-Ugh seriously, will those idiots ever abduct me?? I want the scholarship!
What can I tell you Jo, your chances are looking as good as that acne-Komei jaw combo you have going. Mystery of the non-abduction = solved.
DEAD. This weird ass relationship is killing me, I didn’t even know you could read a teen to sleep??
-Sooo, where were we? Oh yea. Let us take two commodities such as a coat and 10 yards of linen, and let the former be double the value of the latter, so that, if 10 yards of linen = W, the coat = 2W..
DANIEL STOP TRYING TO HYPNOTIZE JOJO INTO COMMUNISM. You can stand to learn something from Gunther, who conducts his political discussions in an open and straightforward manner!
-It’s like.. capitalism, man.. fucked up.
Oh right, we brought this preppy church girl home from school!
Gross, not only is she a face two (a mortal sin in this house) she also looks exactly how I imagine all those college girls that voted for Trump look. But if Gunther is to become the artistic slutbag he’s meant to be, we gotta start somewhere..
-I just love the way your eyebrows are way yellower than your hair.. And that hot-pink lipstick/blood red cardigan combo.. As an aspiring art school drop out, I can tell you really have an eye for color..
-Professional make-up cop 2.0 has got nothing on you babe!
Well that was..embarrassingly easy. Embarrassing for Daniel that is, whose well documented attempts at getting a girlfriend were like dragging nails on a fucking chalkboard. Equally if not more embarrassing is Jojo, who a) has not rolled a single romantic want b) has expressed interest in Stephen Tinker and David Ottomas c) can’t even get the ugly ass aliens to abduct him. Jfc.
But finally, after our two oldest proved to be massive flops, it looks like Vic’s sexual prowess has been inherited and not even the sky can limit those slutty genetics! See you never, Trumpie. We’re moving up in the world.
Suit & waistcoat circa late 1770s/1780s. French. Court dress. Silk, silver thread, burgundy. Part of the exhibition ‘Déboutonner la mode’ (Unbutton fashion) at Paris’ decorative arts’ museum. The large silver buttons are entirely decorative.
This would be among the very blingiest of suits, even for late 18th century France.
What's the deal with the labor theory of value? I know what it is in broad strokes, but I'm not sure what to think of it. Lots of non-Marxist econ types claim it's been empirically disproved, lots of Marxist sorts swear by it, and I've had a lot of trouble finding resources that can explain this whole mess to me in a comprehensible way from either perspective. Can you point me to something that might help?
well, id start with saying that there is no single labor theory of value. there have been several, and marx’s formulation is very different than those that came before him, and for that reason, i actually try to avoid calling it a LTV (and in fact, he never refers to it as such either). part of that has to do with the fact that even if we ignore the idea of labor inputs being value determinants, as many (even followers of marx) have done, what he says about value as a social relation still holds and is very important. there is utility in the logical structure of what he’s saying even if we somehow proved the quantitative value stuff wrong.
that being said, and this is something i brought up a few times recently, there are some economists (in particular, anwar shaikh) who have gone out of their way to show the empirical validity of marxs theory of value, so the fact that non-marxists claim its been disproven has less to do with the actual debate and more to do with pushing an ideological agenda.
as for an explanation of marx’s value theory, i am of the opinion that the best place to get it is from marx himself, but i understand there are difficulties there. the usual complaint being that marx is too hard, although i actually believe the opposite to be true. he’s much too clear and breaks things down into a million more pieces than we often feel are necessary, which drags things out and makes us feel like we’re missing something as he repeats himself for the 50th time. regardless, following him, especially through the first few chapters, is often “arduous” (to use his word).
These memories are sealed in a safe Pandora box deep in my heart. The most beautiful, nostalgic time of all, they became the bookmarks of my journal. For the first and might be last time I could ever taste such pleasure. It was something more than my mortal self could understand, yet I felt it so strongly. And since, they created these immortal memories as I keep them on replay everyday, afraid that one day my mortal will stain them.
My feet lost its way into the beautiful of Greece. The old but defined architecture, sculpture and paintings, every piece of art shows off their own god-like aura. The richness of histories and culture creates the definition for this place. Tropical and exotic, every step I took made some kind of history itself, has a meaning itself. I loved going into temples, Sounion to Athena Nike, I saw every corner.
Mount Olympus dazzled under the honey sunshine. Shooting up into the clouds, this is where the gods and goddess live. They have always been a conversation topic that can get my attention. My mortal was curious about the immortals. Their appearance, their personality, their capability… I want the answers to them all. I’ve heard stories and myths about them hear and there, how this was built by them and how they created this. I liked listening to those stories and analyzing them, which ones sounded fake and which ones sounded faker. Of course some of them can be trusted, but my doubt is bigger.
I looked up to where I supposed was the home of the Twelve Olympians, a rocky mountain without any staircases. As much as the mortals rely on the gods, there are still a line impossible for us to pass to get to the gods, and they made that line up. The clouds surrounding Mount Olympus were glowing. They weren’t thick and heavy, instead, they seemed to be very light and scattered abound into thin strips. I wonder if anybody has climbed this mountain before, or is it just me who thought of this?
I made my way to a woods out of the heart of the city. Days living with the noises and the excitement, my whole body requires me to take a walk in somewhere small and quiet. The woods wasn’t small but it was hard to hear any man-made noise. I closed my eyes and wander around without a destination. As I closed my eyes, my other senses seemed to be more sensitive. I could hear the slightest birds’ voice, the grass collided under my sandals, the sound of chipmunks switched from trees to trees. My mind was at ease. I started to reopen my problem album and scroll through every pictures. Then I thought of the solutions and determined to do better. That’s the whole idea of the trip. Just to be quiet…. Was I being hallucinated or leaves just brushed against each other in a strange pattern?
I took a few more steps forwards, trying to be more conscious about sounds around me. That sound that the leaves made with different and peculiar patterns bothered me.
There were no answers, yet the leaves kept on repeating the uncommon tune. My head turned to the back, took a good look around. All I could see was the road behind me coming to fade and so were the lines of trees. There was nobody, not even a shadow.
I kept on walking but that sound kept following me, as if we were playing catch and I was the victim. It wasn’t a idealistic situation. I stopped, stood still like one of those statues in the temples. Back straight, legs closed, chin up, my face showed no emotions. Instead of giving up, I decided to change the game into my rules. The more I’m paralyzed, the more boring the game would turn out for the other player. And just like that, my opponent gave up.
He had a silky linen white dress and a linen red dress coated on top. Plump lips and high cheekbones, he wrote “attractive” in my first impression. His body glows, there was a halo covered around him. I scanned him head to toe, as I knew this was something beyond my mortal knowledge, at least I wanted to figure out what kind of creature he was.
“Hello, my dear. Why are you wandering out alone like this?” He owned a deep and raspy voice. It was unexpectedly soothing to hear.
“Nothing, just wandering around. Who are you?” Doubt raised in me again, but the back of my head kept screaming the fact I’m attracted to him.
“What if after knowing my name, you’ll be afraid and terrified.” He cocked his head, his voice was full of sarcasm, a slight smirk formed on his face.
“It’s just a name.” My response was sour, a piece of lime squeezed into his bowl of sarcasm. He leaned closer to me until his lips are horizontal to my ear. I could feel his constant breath against my earlobe. My heart tightened, all of the veins in my body seemed to stop flowing.
He pronounced every syllable so slow and passionate. But it didn’t take me long to realize he was a god in the Olympus and not just any god, he’s the king of god. He immediately grabbed my waist, increased my heart beat. There was no distance between us. I could feel his heart, his breath, his expectation, his temptation, as if we were just one person.
Namjoon kissed my lips passionately. He loves biting on my lips even though my lips has never been plumped.. His hand roamed on my back, created long strokes from my neck down to my ass. He gave my ass hard squeezes throughout our kiss. His hands kept kneading the cheeks and how he loved the way I slightly shuddered when he went hard. When he saw I was getting more comfortable, he gave my ass a spank. The pain exerted a moan into his mouth. The squeezing and spanking kept on going, mixed between each other to create more sensation.
He started stripping me from my linen clothes. Red palms were tattooed all over my ass. They turned him on. His hands never once left my ass. Seeing me so weak in front of nature, a mortal so exposed in front of a god, he couldn’t help but making me beg for more.
“Baby girl you’re dripping harder than a waterfall. What’s wrong? Do you want daddy’s dick?” He lifted my chin up so I’m looking directly at him. I knew right away that the answer he expected was more than just a simple yes or a nod. But how could I bring myself to admitting something so embarrassing?
“Yes…” My voice was almost whispering. Another spank. So loud birds startled and flew away. My ass was burning hot, but I loved the heat, I loved every single punishment I was given.
“Should daddy leave you in the woods without any cover? Why don’t you be a good girl and I won’t have to punish you.”
“I want daddy’s cock, please daddy… Please fill my empty self up.”
Namjoon demanded me to hold on to a tree with my back faced him. His nails gripped tightly onto my ass as he insert his harder erection into me from the back. My fingers tried to find a rough surface to hang on, despite the face it could cause serious pain. My screams traveled through the trees and the leaves. They get louder every time he thrust in harder. My own water dripped down the sides of my thighs. As Namjoon was reaching his speed, the spanking became more frequent and rougher. Every time he left marks on me, I bit my lips tightly because the sound I made was too loud and too erotic. I could taste the blood in my mouth. He released inside me. Parts of the cum shot up my spine, warmed up my body. Other parts dripped down on my legs. His seeds sparkled under the sun beam, mixed with my white cum to create a potion of love and lust.
Namjoon dressed me, not forgetting to gently rub the pain off my ass. We lied on the green grass and white dandelions and I fell into his arms. I was exhausted but he wasn’t. It must be that privilege of being a god. A wind came by a took the dandelions with them. They floated in thin air, light as if there was no gravity. The sun made its way through the leaves and kissed Namjoon’s forhead.
“I saw you and I couldn’t help but falling in love.” his voice slowing fade out, further and further with the wind.
Hello. Hope you enjoyed the first part of my new series: BTS x Greek Mythology. After doing some researches, I’m trying my best to fit the character into a Greek god without losing any of the personalities of each. Please anticipate a lot as the next chapter will be released soon.
Ask box is opened for wishes and anything you want me to know.
I'm headed to the Derby on Saturday and the forecast has taken a turn for the worse. High of only 60 and showers all day. I typically wear chinos, poplin shirt, bow tie, silk/linen blend sport coat and deal sleds. Now if I were to be in a suite all day, this rig could work but I'm likely to be in and out of the elements. Thoughts on adjustments to still keep a polished look without ending up looking like a wet mop by day's end. Thanks in advance.
Were this a few years back, when the Derby was BYOB, I’d suggest just winging it and relying on an alcohol rain jacket. However, staring down the barrel of mass-produced, watered-down $12 mint juleps means you’re wise to plan ahead.
Were it me, I’d sport Duck Boots or some kind of waterproof/hose-off-when-you-get-home footwear like Le Chameau. The infield gets muddy on a sunny day, so I have to assume constant rain will make it a nightmare for any leather-soled options. While I’m all about beating up shoes, I think Gucci loafers may be ill-advised.
I’d pair the boots with cotton pants/chinos. If you have a taller boot you can tuck the pants into the boots to keep them clean. However, doing this with a heavily pressed or overly polished-looking cloth is ill-advised, as it will result in bunching and creasing that will look like a mess when wet. Stick to a sturdy cloth like duck canvas or cavalry twill. Bonus points if you can muster a subtle Go-To-Hell color like Nantucket Red or Mint Green.
Given it’s going to be 60 and rainy, I don’t think you’ll want to opt for a silk/linen sport coat. If you plan to be out in rain all day, then I would eschew the tailoring for a waxed cotton (Barbour is the most natural choice) or 60/40 waterproof parka. Plus, opting for outerwear means you can get that much more creative with your shirt/tie combo. Get as Garden and Gun as your heart desires.
If you insist on wearing a sport coat I would stick to a heavier wool like tweed or substantial “faux tweed.” Wool is inherently good at wicking water away, so that will be better than any spongy linen. Given that it’s 60, you shouldn’t be too hot with a more Fall appropriate weight.
The last potential item is a hat. Whereas a boater or panama is more appropriate for such occasions. you’ll want to get something a bit more rugged to face the rain. While you can go full-on frat and wear a ballcap, I would lean toward either a leather fedora (think Indiana Jones) or something closer to a fishing hat.
Stay dry out there and have a mint julep or ten for me.