Fashion wears us more than we could ever be said to wear it; we only have these experiences and ideas in direct and reflexive proportion to the extent that they, in fact, have us. We do not search for meaning – it searches for us and there, finding us as so many yawning vacuums and empty vessels – proceeds to populate us, like viral threads self-propagating in waves of worthless, melancholic chemistry and orchid dust. We are cast aside once we are (once again) useless and hollowed with so much borrowed significance and futile subjectivity…