Plain white T-shirts are the gods of spring
So generously loose
All genders young and old
In Roman sunshine claim democracy
A splash of denim blue
Cloud-faded by blue sky
And fountains hurl their diamonds to the air
A little sun and all are warm again
Perversely seeking shade to sit and chat
Espresso then with Marcus in Bar Zero
That fashionista hangout in Bologna’s porticos
Where media Italians shop for leisure and for ‘labels’
Foraging apparel to appeal –
We philosophised how fashion seldom changes
Prioritising youth’s ephemeral beauty
Applying its discretion to those advanced in years
‘Money Power Success and Pleasure’
These remain its mantra from conception
That some might wear an outer show
Of attributes insensible to virtue
Even dress that deviates
Is soon assimilated to high style
As Punk and Grunge return in silver clasps
Safety-pins of platinum will have you max your plastic
In purchasing a daughter her contemporary demeanour
When we were young we wore a uniform
Some called Bohemian –
It was a uniform for non-conformists
To which we rigidly conformed
Else we might never recognise each other
Little did we know or guess
Our future selves –
In sensible supportive footwear
Ergonomic chairs
Regimens of pills and
The elasticated waistband
But I digress… It was the Roman hedonist
Gave birth to our most venerated models
Anorexia Nervosa and her twin
Bulimia I see
Haunting devotedly the vomitoria
Perpetual cigarettes
Preserving their pearl-like European pallor
In those far days I dined once with a model
Her photograph superbly draped
The glossy leaves of Vanity and Vogue
Yet in the flesh appeared a startling sight
Of pitchfork limbs and bulbous gaze evoking
Plagues of famine pogrom and addiction
I lost my healthy appetite
So like herself I pushed – about a mile
Two spinach leaves around my dinner plate
And found no room for pasta
‘But surely Aurelius’ I persisted
‘Though you profess
Not the slightest interest in fashion
There must come a day you find
Your ‘rough Greek cloak of wool’
An affectation? –
Put aside those tweeds and corduroys
We might advise the modern thinker
Seek out the master tailors
Poets of ‘the simple and the Good’ Italian suit
Historians and stylists call it Mod
Though unaware its elegance
Entirely stems from Stoic Roman values’
.
Bernard Saint
Illustration: Claire Palmer