Sometimes inspiration comes like lightning breaking across a quiet evening. Years ago when I watched Belle De Jour my attention went into overdrive at the introduction of Marcel played by Pierre Clementi. Here was a stylishly painted infant terrible. He was as sharp and cool as juvenile. As weak and confused as he was dangerous and careless. In some ways he was like me. At the time I was suffering physically and financially. I was living in a loft in Brooklyn with no windows and infested with vermin. I took up chainsmoking over the dinnertable with my roomates and I became almost exclusively nocturnal. I was rarely seen without my black bowler, or my black opera hat.
However, far from being dour and introspective I was passionate and restless. Marcel didn't just inspire my style he embodied my disembodied restless mood and gave it a dramatic narrative.
The power of style is the power to transform the self. The right jacket and the right tie can elevate one's self-esteem, yes. But style permeates to the inner recesses of the soul. It colors one's attitude.