The Sartorialist, GPO Melbourne 24th April 2009
Garance Dore, GPO Melbourne, 24th April 2009
I’ve been a fan of The Sartorialist for some time now, but admittedly only discovered Garance Dore’s blog recently while ear-bashing my friend/neighbour/ghost researcher Mary about my new blog (“bla bla bla, my new blog, it’s all about drawing, bla blog, bla”), who promptly sent me a link. Instant fan.
Then last week I read that The Sartorialist was coming to Melbourne and realised, to quote coach Lily, that I “must meet him and draw him!“. Well of course I must, let’s start my new blog with easily achievable realistic goals, right?
So a quick e-mail to Mr Schuman via his website ensued - the modern day equivalent of stuffing a message in a bottle and tossing it into the pacific. Didn’t I spit my coffee all over my lap top when I turned it on in the morning and saw a reply? It wasn’t a yes, but a maybe, and enough. I may have mentioned to a few people that day that I got an e-mail from The Sartorialist, although really just people who happened to call. Or maybe I called some.
Cut to Friday afternoon, it’s 2.30pm and I’m at my computer in my pyjamas, because I can. Mary, apparently deep in data research, mails me to inform me that he is in Melbourne today and tomorrow only. Holy crap. A little sleuthing on his blog tells me he is “shooting downtown” first day, which narrowed down Melbourne dramatically, and at about that minute, like Diana Prince twirling around and becoming Wonder Woman, I became Stalker Blogger, jumped into the bat car and sped into town.
It’s 3.10pm and driving along, it occurs to me how enjoyable doing something as ridiculous as this is, and consider the idea of only doing ridiculous things for the rest of my life.
It was a simple plan: If I was advising The Sartorialist where to shoot, where would I suggest, keeping his aesthetic in mind? I’d say the GPO, and then maybe Flinders Lane / Degraeves st. Nowhere to be found on the GPO verandah, so I stroll up the outside to visit my ex (once removed) at his crepe stand, to ask if he’s seen a guy taking photos.
I pass a familiar looking guy with ice blue eyes ripped straight out of Daniel Craig’s head, look down and see a camera in his hands. Oh stalker blogger, you are good. He had been talking to a pretty woman, who I approach in his absence and ask if she is indeed here with Scott Schuman. She is, and she is Garance Dore. It is 3.30pm, une heure depuis les pyjamas.
So no sooner had I explained myself to Garance than The Sartorialist appears and I explain again, attempting an apology for appearing like a complete dork stalker, assuring them that I’m actually not as incredibly uncool as I come across, and offering some pathetic but genuine compliments. Argh, it’s painful even for me, and might I say how amazingly polite they both were – waiting patiently for me to get to the point, locate a business card, etc.
So that’s it. I celebrated by moonwalking all the way to Flinders Lane to enjoy a coffee at Journal Canteen, where I was horrified to see my NBFs again. Which on the good side shows I had them pegged, but on the bad side makes it all but impossible for them to belive I wasn’t following them or working for ASIO. A quick sideways dash into the doorway wasn’t fast enough to prevent him seeing me so I had to make do with a hasty but earnest plea promising I was NOT a stalker. Although if he reads this drawn out rant, then he will know that I am indeed a stalker blogger. At least for that day.
I was so busy high fiving myself that it wasn’t until I was half way through my coffee that I realised that even with 2 opportunities, they hadn’t wanted to photograph me. So what I want to know is – was it the jacket? Shoulders too extreme? Too many zips? It’s vintage Nevada Duffy for godsake! Was it because my pants kept sticking to my knee socks and riding up in an unattractive manner? Was the red lipstick with the red recycled flag scarf too obvious? It’s made from an old flag – that’s genius! The shoes were Anna Sui – nothing wrong with those!
Upon further study of the people they both photograph, I decide my shoes were just not “enough”. So I bought these smokin’ shoes, and I’m thinking that if I haul my arse up to Sydney this week and parade around with landmarks behind me I might, just might, become “On the street….Patsyfox”.