A month or so back, I was talking with a friend and I let it slip out that my ultimate goal when it comes to my personal style was to simply dress like John Updike. Considering how much slack I already get for dressing like a fifty year old trapped in a twenty-one year olds body, I’m always skeptical to admit that one of my icons is an author from the late twentieth-century, as the obvious connotations regarding literature, and bygone decades make Updike seem, for lack of a better term, unprovocative. And yet to me, that’s the entire point of iconizing Updike, as he proves that you don’t have to look glossy, or flashy, or trendy, as long as you look like you know what the hell you’re doing.
Throughout most of my childhood one of my favorite books was a hard-covered copy of The Adventures of Tintin that occupied prime real estate on my bookshelf. And yet, if you asked me today what that story was about I wouldn’t even be able to begin to to you. My dad had brought that book back from one of his trips to France and so with my level of French comprehension in the negatives, I was left to merely flip through the colorful pages and try my damnedest to figure out what was going on. After a few years, and many more business trips, I amassed more Tintin memorabilia, collecting little trinkets here and there, and it wasn’t long before I became fascinated with Tintin’s world without ever actually knowing what stories those pages actually held.