Growing up, it was a cautionary tale from my sister and her cool friends that egged me to seek my clothing from Simon's. Back then this fairly large (sq. foot wise) chain of only two stores was only resting it's comfortable foundations in Quebec City. What you would find there were nice fancy clothes for middle to lower-upper class women and decent classic wear for men. For some reason, plaid was a trademark for this store. Maybe the owners were scots, I'll have to google this. By trademark I mean that one third of all the men's items in the store had plaid on it. And, of course, plaid had the approval of Quebec City's 1988 prep school youth.
Maybe it was a sense of comfort found in these boldly colored perpendicular lines, a simple and logic pattern, that drew me into keeping plaid around the wardrobe for the rest of my entire life since then.
This makes middle age Scottish Lowlands clans the true founders of this timeless trend. There was an age where grown men would kill to defend the honour of the colours of your plaid kilt or belted plaid. Then countless real men kept the tradition alive taking the pattern into America, it's glory surviving among lumberjacks. Still today, the color of your plaid jacket can get you capped in certain neighborhoods. I guess what I'm trying to say is to respect the plaid. It's more than a rug or a tablecloth, it's a bloody uniform.
Maybe my rise into early adolescence in the high school grunge scene was just a decoy for me to keep wearing plaid. Same could go for joining the hardcore brethren, where tartan was always a wise choice from the new school to the old school.
Simon's was not the same after making the cross to Montreal. The business is still owned by the Simon family, but the new breed sacrificed everything the name meant for quick money in Quebec's rival city and in submitting to new trends. As I walked through the isles of the downtown MTL location looking for the remains of a simpler time - where plaid made you look stoic, not ironic - I could see nothing but horrible, horrible, clothes. Snowboarding and skateboarding companies (and white belts) took over everything in there it seems. Every time I see a normal looking garment, it is only to reveal some kind of crappy vintage imprint on the other side of it, not even centered. Fuck you Djab and Volcom, give me back my tartan. It's time for retribution.
So could my entire life be an excuse to wearing plaid? Well, all aboard Spaceballs 1 and let's go full throttle into the plaid dimension, because this is where I want to die.
Maybe it was a sense of comfort found in these boldly colored perpendicular lines, a simple and logic pattern, that drew me into keeping plaid around the wardrobe for the rest of my entire life since then.
This makes middle age Scottish Lowlands clans the true founders of this timeless trend. There was an age where grown men would kill to defend the honour of the colours of your plaid kilt or belted plaid. Then countless real men kept the tradition alive taking the pattern into America, it's glory surviving among lumberjacks. Still today, the color of your plaid jacket can get you capped in certain neighborhoods. I guess what I'm trying to say is to respect the plaid. It's more than a rug or a tablecloth, it's a bloody uniform.
Maybe my rise into early adolescence in the high school grunge scene was just a decoy for me to keep wearing plaid. Same could go for joining the hardcore brethren, where tartan was always a wise choice from the new school to the old school.
Simon's was not the same after making the cross to Montreal. The business is still owned by the Simon family, but the new breed sacrificed everything the name meant for quick money in Quebec's rival city and in submitting to new trends. As I walked through the isles of the downtown MTL location looking for the remains of a simpler time - where plaid made you look stoic, not ironic - I could see nothing but horrible, horrible, clothes. Snowboarding and skateboarding companies (and white belts) took over everything in there it seems. Every time I see a normal looking garment, it is only to reveal some kind of crappy vintage imprint on the other side of it, not even centered. Fuck you Djab and Volcom, give me back my tartan. It's time for retribution.
So could my entire life be an excuse to wearing plaid? Well, all aboard Spaceballs 1 and let's go full throttle into the plaid dimension, because this is where I want to die.
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