Decked in a bamboo lampshade-cum-hat, 30s rayon curtain-cum-pants, and embroidered robes from Syria, Timothy, in his ivory bangles stacked to his elbows, states that he has no aspirations for sanity. When he looks around at what's considered normal, like people who dress expensively but emanate nothing compelling, he isn't tempted to conform to any standard beyond his own. Normal, for Timothy, doesn't exist. He seeks out the extraordinary and all things that "make his heart sing." On any given day he is wrapped in the pleated origami-esque garments of Issey Miyake (who's design roots can be found in ancient Japanese traditional clothing) and loads of tribal jewelry from all over the world (and time periods). Unfortunately, it seems that a complete disregard for suppression, like wearing more skirts than women do, has brought Timothy to the attention of many haters. The biggest and most powerful perpetrators have been the aggressive bullies at the NYPD. Having landed Timothy in the hospital on more than one occasion, the assaults will be exposed in his upcoming book. The dusty old white men, as Timothy calls them, are going to be called out in a chapter entitled "The F Word" (fascism, fear, fraud, and farce). We don't know about you, but we choose the joy of seeing the beauty in everything over buying into the homogenous corporate myths and facades that leave us unconsciously miserable and imprisoned. So, like Timothy, the next time you see a crushed rearview mirror, turn it into a necklace.
xoxo Elisa & Lily