Riding the train, though I love the sheer sense of independence it promises, comes with a couple of draw backs.
(1) Kissing couples. American’s typify Europe as a love induced romantic destination, and apparently the scuzzy underground is where all of this fantasy thrives. I don’t know what it says about me that whenever I see kissing couples on trains I find myself wondering whether or not the couple are cheaters. Why is just one of them wearing a wedding band? Where are they going? Why are they groping one another within spiting distance of me?
(2) Seat politics. Call me old fashioned, but when I was a kid I was raised to give up my seat to the elderly. When I see young professionals and teenagers blatantly ignore new elderly passengers, who then have to cling to railings instead of being seated, I want to punch said professionagers in the mouths.
(3) Bad fashions. Generally this is a lesser offense for the people in Europe as opposed to the Americas (what? It’s absolutely true. Why do you think the Sartorialist spends 80% of his time outside of his native land?). But occasionally I will be forced to sit in the vicinity of a man wearing too-tight, too-short jeans, or women who have been wearing the same slacks from the early nineties. And before I know it, I’ve been fixating on said pieces of atrocious clothing for well over 10 minutes a piece, which makes me feel unproductive.
By the way this is an asian interpretation of me on a train. I am lazy and steal pictures from the internet at large. sue me.
(4) The worst offense, in my opinion, is the myriad of potent smells that are in-evadable. You’re sitting next to the cat lady, wondering if her cats are stuffed into the pockets of her oversized coat. You’re basically sharing a seat with a drunk who, doused in last nights spilt liquor, is still drinking at 5pm. There’s the Indian lady who hops on for 3 stops. I think she works in an Indian restaurant and I can smell the nights specials as soon as the automatic doors swish behind her. One lady looks very nice, but she doesn’t wash her clothes. One man has a gland problem and sweats a lot. Two teenaged boys chainsmoke between their classes all day. Â The worst thing about sharing confined places with so many people is that when you finally step off the train after reaching your destination, you’re a melting pot of strangers offenses. The morning’s spritz of $90 perfume was pointless as now you only smell like an ash tray that was fished out of a swampy bay. It’s very depressing.
BUT Europe brought us man-pris. And those…they are just…literally…the worst.
Also, you mentioned Chanel, then I went through my Google Reader and saw the Sartorialist’s post from the Chanel S/S 2013 show and BEHOLD (in the first photo)- http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=exTEep3OxMA
I predict we will all be carrying hula hoop purses within 5 years.
Ugh wrong link. http://www.thesartorialist.com/photos/31860/