I’m not embarrassed. I was young and had to distinguish myself somehow, so for me at the time it meant having silly hair and silly clothes and a cigarette.
Anyway, these people were taking pictures of me, thinking the best way for them to describe to their friends back home what Camden or even London was like in the ‘90s was to show a picture of a young man with a cigarette and a purple velvet shirt that matched his hair.
Young people from all over the world come to New York and to London and to San Francisco in the hope not merely of having a good time and having their quirks accepted by a community of bigger freaks, but often in the hope of defining what makes these places what they are. I didn’t move to London to be a part of something, but to dictate the definition of that something.
Now I live in a small city and I’m ten years older. In my community at the moment I’m usually happy to go to the grocery store without getting into a fight, and finding a parking spot close to my house on my way back. I wish I could say it’s just about getting wiser and understanding the real important things in life, but I somehow feel there’s a bigger problem here. Sometimes I feel there’s something wrong with losing the will or the need to define the world on my own terms.