CarnivalSeb (@CarnivalSeb) header
CarnivalSeb (@CarnivalSeb) profile picture

A dandy & a feminist, founder of Lamplight Circus. He/him pronouns. I post a lot more on insta. Same handle as here. Meet you there?

Melbourne, Australia
Joined December 2010
Photo by CarnivalSeb (@CarnivalSeb)Photo by CarnivalSeb (@CarnivalSeb)Photo by CarnivalSeb (@CarnivalSeb)Photo by CarnivalSeb (@CarnivalSeb)Photo by CarnivalSeb (@CarnivalSeb)Photo by CarnivalSeb (@CarnivalSeb)Photo by CarnivalSeb (@CarnivalSeb)Photo by CarnivalSeb (@CarnivalSeb)Photo by CarnivalSeb (@CarnivalSeb)Photo by CarnivalSeb (@CarnivalSeb)
CarnivalSeb retweeted
Many popular menswear headlines can be made more interesting if you add some political, historical, or technological dimension to them, rather than just tell people how to dress and what to buy. Examples: Boring: "Here's how to dress for the office." Interesting: "Here's how contemporary office dress culture reflects the last century of liberalism." Boring: "Here are the best shoes this season." Interesting: "Here's what Victorian shoemaking can tell us about AI." Boring: "Here are affordable alternative to this season's best bags." Interesting: "Here's how federal budget cuts have made it harder to spot labor exploitation in global supply chains, which shows up as 'hot deals' for consumers." Boring: "Here's how to dress hot and sexy." Interesting: "Here's a history of how people have covertly expressed sexuality through clothes during times when such expressions were taboo." I would argue that the more people engage with these histories and find deeper meaning in clothes, the more they're able to dress in ways that allow them to express what they want and feel satisfied by what they wear, rather than blindly buying whatever is on a "fall essentials" list.
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Sometimes It Do Be Like That
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This is the most remarkable story Ray Bradbury ever shared with me. He told it late at nigh, sitting in his den of antiquities and mementos. Take five minutes to read this. It’s pure magic. #Writing #Living #Creativity #RayBradbury #Book
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Artistic repair should be at the core of our cultural ethos
They don't tell you how repairing your own broken stuff makes that stuff feel way more intimately yours than buying a replacement for the broken thing.
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The best entry on Petrov is in encyclopedia Brittanica which says, “He is survived by his two children, two grandchildren and the entire human race.”
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Anytime someone tries to make fun of humanities degrees as “basket weaving,” think of this. Basket weaving is a site of cultural and indigenous knowledges, fugitive ecologies, plants as material, oral traditions, folk wisdom, and artistry. This is so beautiful.
fifth-generation Gullah Geechee sweetgrass basket weaver Corey Alston standing next to one of his large, contemporary sculptural basket creations.
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You have heard that in Japan, the customer is god. That is a mistranslation. The customer is a guest. A god can do anything. A guest cannot. A guest has manners. That is why Japanese staff treat you perfectly, and why you are expected to act like someone worth treating perfectly. The deal is simple: they give you their best, you give them your decency. "The customer is always right" built a country where staff get screamed at for minimum wage. "The customer is a guest" built one where nobody screams, because screaming would end the visit. Service is not servitude. It is hospitality. And hospitality goes both ways.
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Six good things hiding in plain sight:
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Growing up, we had a "family rock" on the kitchen counter. It wasn't a fancy crystal or anything, just a grey, slightly jagged rock my dad probably found in the driveway. The rule was very simple: if you were having a terrible day and didn't want to talk about it, you put the rock next to your plate at dinner. It was a silent, universal signal that everyone had to leave you alone. No "how was school," no "eat your vegetables," nothing. You could just sit there in moody silence. Honestly, it was a great system. I thought every family did this. It wasn't until my college sophomore year when my roommate was crying over a breakup that I went outside, found a nice chunk of gravel, and gently placed it on her desk. She stopped crying, stared at the gravel, stared at me, and asked if I was threatening her. Explaining the emotional utility of the silent rock to a crying stranger made me realize how deeply weird my childhood actually was.
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The more parochial, the more moralistic, and the more narrowly you defined heterosexual male behavior, the harder it will be for you to wear classic men's tailoring because this style of dress will mark you as a dandy today. If you allow people to wear whatever they want in public — from Cheeto-stained ducky pajamas to tutus with Army boots — the easier it will be for you to wear whatever want. This includes tailoring in any color, material, and style: conservative worsteds associated with Ivy Style; wool-mohair blends with a slight sheen, like Giovanni Agnelli walking out of supper clubs; or slutty 1970s suits with flared trousers. Alternatively, the more parochial and moralistic you make dress, the more you have to adhere to the ugly, awful standard for heterosexual male presentation: a limp golf polo paired with slim fit stretch chinos, walnut colored dress sneakers, and a modern Rolex.
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CarnivalSeb retweeted
It's very easy to wear a suit and tie in any major city, even if the aesthetic has mostly disappeared from daily life, because there are people outside wearing pink tutus with Army boots. As usual, your liberation is connected to other people's liberation.
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A convenience store clerk in Shibuya stopped me at 3am. Clerk: You buy same thing every night. Me: Yeah, night shift. Same routine. Clerk: For six months now. Always chu-hi, onigiri, instant ramen. Me: Keeps me alive. Clerk: This is intervention. Me: What? Clerk: (pulling out a bento box from behind counter) My wife made this. You eat. Me: I can't accept... Clerk: Not asking. You look like skeleton. Very concerning. took the bento, came back next night. Me: That was the best meal I've had in months. Thank you. Clerk: I know. You come back same time tomorrow. this became routine. every night, fresh bento waiting. tried to pay extra. Clerk: Insult to my wife. She cooks, you eat, everyone happy. two months of this. then one night, different clerk. Me: Where's Tanaka-san? New clerk: He quit yesterday. Retired. Me: He didn't say goodbye. New clerk: (handing me envelope) He left this. opened it: a handwritten note in careful English. "You reminded me of my son. He died five years ago. Same age as you. Worked night shift. Never ate properly. Thank you for letting me feed you. -Tanaka" went back next week hoping to find forwarding address. New clerk: Oh! You're the night shift guy! (pulling out another bento) Tanaka-san's wife still makes these. She says stop by their house on Sundays. I've been having Sunday dinner with them for eight months now. Last week Tanaka's wife called me her "konbini son." Tanaka nodded approvingly: "Looks healthier now. Good." Sometimes the best family finds you at a 7-Eleven at 3am.
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Replying to @terryandrob
I've never read any of his books (😳) but I keep a quote from the Theif of Time on my dresser mirror and read it every day.
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CarnivalSeb retweeted
I retweeted this earlier today and received some hostile comments, so I thought I'd share a story. The photo on the left shows Constable Sukhvinder Singh Sunger, a Canadian Sikh police officer who recently led the Vancouver Police Pipe Band at the Royal Edinburgh Military Tattoo. The event is held at Edinburgh Castle, and it celebrates military bands from around the world. Thus, for the event, Constable Sunger wore traditional Highland dress with a ceremonial dastār (Sikh turban). I think he looks resplendent for all the reasons I've mentioned in my previous threads: the use of "shape and drape," texture, and the semiotics of clothing. But some were less enthused about a Canadian man of South Asian descent wearing Scottish clothing. So I thought I'd share a story about Alexander Haughton Campbell Gardner, an adventurer and mercenary born in 1785 in what would become modern Wisconsin. By his own account, his father was Scottish, and his mother was Anglo-Spanish, although at least one of his contemporaries thought he was Irish. Either way, he would be considered "white" today. At the age of 24, he traveled to Europe and, shortly after, began exploring Russia and Central Asia. It was in Central Asia, he claims, that he started to adopt the local customs and mores, often presenting himself as Muslim. Although one wonders how easily he was able to blend in, as he stood six feet tall and had a penchant for drinking. According to him, he was captured in Afghanistan in 1824, but ended up joining a rebel force, commanding 180 horsemen, and marrying a local woman, with whom he fathered a child near Parwan. His wife and child were later killed after his patron's defeat, which drove him to Punjab. It was in Punjab, he claims, where he joined the Sikh Army, eventually rising to the level of Colonel. He claims to have been present at Lahore, then the capital of the Sikh Empire, and says he killed 300 men during a fierce clash. Much of Gardner's life is hard to verify, as many of his fantastical claims come from his much-contested memoir, which has little to no third-party corroboration. However, one thing is certain, if only because we have photographic evidence. Later in life, he had a striking style of self-presentation. In the photo on the right, you can see him in a tartan suit and Sikh turban. His facial hair is long because many Sikhs believe not cutting your hair shows respect for God's perfect creation. Gardner was a man of American descent, European lineage, and Central/ South Asian cultural identity. He died with the name Gordana Khan. This complex form of diasporic identity goes back to 1785, shortly after the United States declared independence from Britain. In my opinion, it goes to show that culture is porous and identities can be complex, not as clear and "pure" as many would like to pretend.
Drum Major Sukhvinder Sunger of the Vancouver Police Pipe Band, leading the entry at the Edinburgh Tattoo. BZ, Drum Major Sunger !
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chef’s kiss
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My son came to me with some news. He told me Dolly Parton had died and I said I knew. And then he got quiet for a second and said she loved me. She used to send me a lot of books. I had to just look at him for a moment. He was talking about the Imagination Library. The program where Dolly sends books to children every month from birth until they start school. Millions of kids across the country get these books. My son believed that Dolly Parton personally knew him. That she had specifically selected each book, thought about him individually, put it in an envelope, and mailed it to our house every single month because she loved him specifically. Not as part of a program. Not as one of millions of children. But because she and my son had a personal relationship and she was devoted to his literary development specifically. And honestly when you think about it from a child's perspective that's not even an unreasonable conclusion. Books showed up every month with her name attached. She clearly cared. Why wouldn't she know him personally. I didn't have the heart to fully correct him in that moment. Because also he wasn't entirely wrong. She did love him. She loved all of them. She just loved a lot of children at once and had a very efficient system for showing it. Rest easy Dolly. My son misses you personally.
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C.S. Lewis, a special kind of longing
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