Paisley’s mom gave him the green light to do and be whoever he wanted to be and as a result, he gives little power to the obstacles related to those tasks. His hair is a bob inspired by Peggy Moffitt meets Ike Turner and he never wears a cummerbund with a tuxedo. If you come hear Paisley DJ, don’t expect Top 40. Instead, you’ll be challenged to lose yourself in the unknown fancy and fantasy of a mid- to late-’70s disco/Rodgers and Hammerstein Broadway tunes mashup. Telling a story through melody, like the joy of disco and its message of love and revolution, is ubiquitous for Paisley.
Life is seen through his own glamorous lens when he interprets the romantic, rather than dandy side of Paul Smith in a pastel blouse with a bow and the dark, rather than the humorous side of Henrik Vibskov in a military black jumpsuit. His torn Gareth Pugh sweater and Rick Owens skirt reveals his past punk life in Berlin, where he lived for five years and learned to not rush. There, he felt as if he could let all of his walls down. Paisley wore a tethered tee and jeans everyday while he “experienced breathing, looking up, and being an artist for no other reason than for the love of what you were doing,” creating mashups of punk rock and disco. This former Paisley would have felt his current sartorial passions – Malu fishscale pants, silver Patrick Cox boots and Sarah Samoiloff’s tribal foot-long silver earrings (to this day, one of my favorites on SLU) – to be too much armor for the city whose oppressive wall fell in ’89. It took two years in London after Berlin to prepare Paisley to re-enter New York City, but he has, and on his own terms, sipping tea for two hours in the afternoon with his cell phone off.