Color, Memory, and the Art of Not Giving a Damn.

Some outfits are designed. Others just... happen. A leftover tie here, a sun-drenched morning there, and suddenly you’re standing in your living room wearing a double-breasted navy suit, a pink polka dot tie, and a striped shirt that feels like a wink to the Riviera—even though you're nowhere near a coastline. It shouldn’t work. It absolutely does.

What you see here is not new. In fact, these are old photos. Remnants of a time when I felt experimental, maybe a bit feral with fabric. Yellow trousers that blind and charm in equal measure. A grey DB jacket worn over a lemon pastel shirt, paired with a navy tie so classic it could’ve walked out of a Savile Row catalogue. Pocket squares held out like offerings—one flamingo-loud, the other checkered and reserved. Two moods. One closet. And somehow, they both felt honest.

What ties all this together isn’t just a love for tailoring or color theory. It’s a refusal to shrink. To mute. To play it safe. Let the world have its endless oatmeal tones and navy blazers with white shirts (yawn). I’ll take fuchsia silk, Prada amber, and sunlight filtering through leaves like nature’s own spotlight, thank you very much.

A Little Sartorial Therapy

We dress how we feel. Or how we want to feel. Sometimes both. That deep blue double-breasted suit, for example—it's armor. Sleek, structured, confident. But pair it with a bubblegum tie and a striped shirt and suddenly you’ve given the armor a personality. A smirk. A little therapy, even. If Patrick Bateman ever decided to turn the page, go to therapy, unpack his childhood, and discover lavender fragrance and pink pocket squares—he’d probably land here.

And then there’s the yellow. It’s not a color. It’s a statement. A provocation. A small rebellion against grey skies, cubicles, and the subtle tyranny of business casual. Worn with blue tassel loafers and confidence (always confidence), it doesn’t apologize for anything. Why should it?

The Power of Holding Something Beautiful

Let’s talk about the pocket square. Yes, the flamingo one. I didn’t just wear it—I held it. Offered it to the camera like it meant something. Because it did. Not in a sentimental way, but in a declaration-of-intent way. In this world of beige minimalism and fast fashion forgettability, that square of saturated silk was proof that you could still have fun with your clothes and mean it.

The same goes for the bottle of Prada Amber Pour Homme. Soft lavender juice in a brutalist glass rectangle. Masculine, but not aggressive. The kind of scent that says, “I know who I am, and no, I’m not going to explain it to you.” It sat perfectly within the energy of these fits—contrasts, contradictions, and little quiet explosions of identity.

A Jungle, a Wall, and a Vibe

Some of the shots happened in what looked like a jungle. It wasn’t, of course—but light hit the leaves just right, and for a moment, the grey suit became something mythological. Like an explorer who traded maps for tailoring. Other photos were shot against a sun-slatted wall that made me feel like a noir character in a Wes Anderson dream sequence. And still others—just grass, shoes, and the glorious punch of banana trousers.

This wasn’t planned. But it didn’t need to be. Sometimes your wardrobe knows more about you than you do.

Why This Still Matters

People often say, “It’s just clothes.” Sure. And a song is just noise. A painting is just pigment. A fragrance is just alcohol. But put them together the right way, and suddenly you’ve got presence. You've got story. You’ve got a version of yourself that dares to be a little louder, a little brighter, a little weirder.

And maybe that’s the point.

TL;DR:

Blue and grey give you gravitas. Pink gives you joy. Yellow gives you guts. Wear them all at once, and suddenly you’ve got a personality that’s hard to ignore.

Even better—your reflection might finally wink back.