It’s one thing to be possessed by clothes, it’s another to own them.
This is why Colette, during this last July Men Shows in Paris, held an ironing class, exclusively for men, in its basement Water bar.
It is no irony to think that this would prevent some Fashion-obsessed among us running their shirts to the nearest cleaner (if not their mum) likely to return a Junya Watanabe in the state of a stretch of toilet paper.
A customer puzzled by the scene
A dozen ironing tables had been installed like in a classroom, all equiped with Rowenta steam power stations which were as intimidating as a Hummer for those who have never driven before.
Jocelyne proudly wearing her medal of « Meilleure Ouvrière de France »
Jocelyne, a professor at the École de Gouvernantes et Majordomes, started by teaching us the meaning of washing instructions icons. For some, it was already too late, their shirt had probably shrunk 3 sizes. A student raised his arm in alarm that a symbol inside his shirt was not mentioned in Jocelyn’s exhaustive list.
« Is it Japanese ? … » she asked, raising her eyebrows. The dude confirmed : it was a Tsumori Chisato. « Well, if it’s Japanese… », and she shrugged, with a smile.
A participant discovers the complexity of ironing.
Several unexperienced scenesters, in fear of being unsubscribed from the newsletter by bringing the wrong shirt had brought their best attire, all fresh from the washing machine, crumbled like a handkerchief long forgotten in a back pocket.
For my part, I had brought one of my signature worn out flea market plaid shirts. Some of the dudes glanced over at it with envy, thinking it was an advance sample from Maison Kitsuné’s «Brokeback Mountain » new collection.
In fact, I had just got it back from the cleaner, and had to pull it into a ball and sit on it during my Metro ride over, so it would be wrinkled enough to be ironed.
Jocelyne looked over my shoulder while I was passing over a part of the collar that had stayed flat from the cleaner, and congratulated me.
Writer and blogger Borey meticulously working his shirt
When we finally came to the folding lesson, how keeping our folds symetrical that one shoulder is not twice as wide as the other, there were very little time left for the pants.
This saved me from the dilemma of having to ridiculously iron my jeans, or confess Jocelyn I never wear any other sort of pants.
In fact, it took so much time to perfect the shirt, that none was left for ironing the torn jeans I had brought in a plastic bag.