ArchivedLogs:Climbing for Fashion

Climbing for Fashion
Dramatis Personae Isak,Sean
In Absentia	2014-05-14 Climbing leads to talking
Location <NYC> Apartment Gym - One Sixty-Seven - Upper West Side
The gym of One Sixty Seven is a place full of the rich and the vaguely pretending to be healthy. Some are pretending harder than others though, as some are actually managing to build up a sweat from their various uses of exercise equipment. The rock wall is occupied currently by a younger man than many in the gym, dressed in a black tank top and metallic grey shorts. His hair is slicked back somewhat possibly by sweat, and he has the safety line attached to the harness set about waist and legs. "This bloody thing never gets any easier," Sean mumbles to himself as he digs gloved hands into a hand hold, and feet in brightly colored vibrams perch in a toe hold precariously. Isak may be thin as a bean, but he'd like to keep it that way. He enters and sets his bag down on a bench not far from the climbing wall. He's in a neon green tank top and black exercise shorts. While he sorts through his gear bag, he casts the occasional glance up at Sean. "I've never tried that thing. Is it as irritating as it looks?" Latching his body into a relaxed hold state like he's used to it, Sean swings his head about to look for who was talking. Vaguely recognizing the face, he shakes his head, but offers a slightly tired smile. "It's irritating if you fall when you're more than halfway to the top. But it's great exercise, about as much a full body exercise as swimming." He grins deeper at that, "Just you know, without the chlorine making your hair change funny colors and smell funny." Taking another deep breath he looks for the next hold and he swings his body over to grip on. "I don't know. Seems like a whole lot of trouble to me," Isak purses his lips and walks over to the wall. He reaches up to a high hand grip and gives it an experimental little tug. "I suspect they make the hand grips all colourful to trick you into thinking it's gonna be a fun thing." He has an accent. It's faint, and perhaps Scandinavian. "It is fun. And you aren't going to destroy your body like doing it on real rock," Sean calls down as he speeds up in moving towards the top now that someone is below him. "You don't have to wear gloves on this, but its a good idea. If you don't use em on real rock, well I hope you don't work with your hands for a living." There are occasional grunts, and small drops of sweat that fall from on high, but despite his earlier complaints he seems to know the path of this wall well enough. Isak laughs. "Man, I would be utterly shocked if anyone who lives in this building works with their hands for a living." Isak tests the handhold. He grabs for another and tries climbing up the edge of the wall. He's not going very high, seeing as he has neither proper shoes, nor a harness. "I have it on good authority that there is a brain surgeon who lives here," Sean says with a grin as he pushes off at the top to rappel down the wall, his gloved hands on the line to keep it safe. From the look on his face, this perhaps is the reason he climbed up in the first place. "And, I am an artist. I could say artiste, but then I'd need to talk with an outrageous french accent, and wear a beret." He mimes smoking a cigarette and looking like a bad french stereotype as he plants his feet on the ground. Isak thinks about the brain surgeon comment. He waggles his head side to side as a way of conceding the point. He watches the rappel with a little grin. "Ahh, I see. It's not the way up that is a fun thing, it's the way back down." He gives up on his short little ascent and pushes off the wall to drop to the ground. "Berets are actually making a comeback. You'd be fashion-forward." "True, but I do so hate modern fashion. It seems like everything goes for some stupid theme and then tries to push it to a limit. It isn't what looks good on the Person, but what makes a person into a way to carry the Costume." Sean makes another face and sighes. "But yes, it is the way down that is the most fun. Like skiing, but they don't have a ski lift to the top of the hill to slide down from. There's a ladder, but that's just a more boring way to climb up." As the man lands at the ground beside him, he unvelcros the glove to offer a bare hand, "Sean. sixth floor. Artist of various mediums." The comment about fashion makes Isak hold a little secret smile. He holds it back until he reaches to shake Sean's hand. "Isak Blomgren. Of Blomgren International house of fashion." If Sean knows the likes of Brooks Brothers, or pays attention to billboards, the name might ring a bell. "Although we're not always guilty of being modern. I am a bit surprised to hear an artist speak ill of haute couture. It is, after all, a type of performance art." Sean just grins at the fact that the other fellow is a fashionista, no embarrassment at all about his ill words of fashion. "Pfft, every artist considers every other art to be lesser to their own. Well unless they are still in the whoa is me, my art is trash phase. Thankfully I grew out of that the first time I had a gallery of my stuff." Drumming a bare finger against his chin, he seems to be thinking. "I think I've seen some of your stuff. Not so guilty as the others though. I think it tends to be worse for what the women wear than the men though, I am glad that a suit hasn't really needed to change much in the past hundred or so years." "My family business is both rooted and mired in tradition. On one hand, we'll never go out of business, because suits will always be around. On the other, we're not the household name of Yves St Laurent or Hugo Boss." Isak stops himself. "But I imagine nothing bores an artist more than talk of business strategies. I've known enough of the artistic types. It used to be my job to babysit designers at shows." Chuckling, Sean grins and taps the cell phone attached to his bicep by the athletic little strappy things that seem popular with joggers. "I have my own babysitter. Angela is a goddess at that stuff, I understand it from a vague perspective. How does one assign worth to ones work after all? The effort you put into it, the materials used to produce it, the time it took? What about creative vision, and more importantly the person who looks at the piece and feel moved by it?" He smiles and runs a hand through his hair. "Basically I'd probably either be a starving artist without her from either under or over pricing things. But I can't complain about the results, though I think that the owner of the building would probably prefer I not have painted the walls." "You're dealing with things that any company does. Brand. Marketing strategies. Perception of value. Creating need." Isak makes a motion with his hand. "You might not be dealing with it directly, but you're as much of a businessman as I am. You just hired someone who takes care of most of the details. It's never about how much something is worth. It's all about what someone is willing to pay." Making a face, Sean does still chuckle at the end of the business talk. "Indeed. It's just funny to me what things people will buy. Like the things that are literally worth the most are what I would gladly give for free, and what is silly entertainment pays for my apartment." He shrugs again, then shakes his head. "Which is why there are people who handle business for people who don't want to. Hrm, I should recommend that to my friend. He is going to have a gallery opening soon." "You shouldn't treat the business end of it as something distasteful. You should embrace it. After all, it allows you the freedom to live in a place such as this. Oh, I'm certain you're talented, but there are many talented people. Not all of them live here." Isak motions around. "But, take my words with grains of salt. I'm from a family that has been doing this sort of thing for generations." "It's not a distaste so much as a lack of concern?" Sean tilts his head as if trying to decide that is the word he was wanting. "Its one thing knowing that you can do something, but another to care to do it I guess. My parents run a ski lodge, so I had to grow up with all that sorta business factor, but hospitality and products are somewhat different in the realms of business matters." Unstrapping himself from the climbing harness he stretches to get the kinks out. "I don't have to worry about an entire herd of people to manage after all. " "Mhmm, not so different if your business is client-based. There's just more money and less danger in fashion. Unless you're talking about withering passive-aggressive insults at cocktail parties on the French Riviera. God..." Isak makes a bit of a face. "Sounded terrible pretentious, didn't it? Oh well. If the shoe fits..." Snickering at the catty commentary, Sean shakes his head still thoroughly amused. "Oh I put up with plenty of cattiness. I just don't have supermodels doing it to me usually. My models tend to be far more happy, it's the critics and the art snobs that I have to listen to." Sticking out his tongue and making a gag motion with his hands he shakes his head. "If I have to hear one more person deciding that the gum on the sidewalk in my painting is representative of some ideal of the plight of the common man I'll barf up the champagne. If I have gum on the sidewalk, it's because I saw gum on the damn sidewalk. It represents... someone being too lazy to spit their gum in the trash can." "But once your work is out into the world, you no longer have any control over how people interpret it. That's rather the exciting bit, I think. If we put out a new line, sink or swim, it's out there. People will draw their own conclusions. And isn't that the beauty of art, that someone can see something grander in a piece than the creator saw?" Isak pauses a moment and smirks. "And this is far too heavy a conversation to be having in a gym. We should be talking about reps and shit." He flexes a skinny arm. "I prefer to take my art philosophy from Mark Twain," Sean says with a grin, then snerks at the talk of reps and shit. He too flexes an arm, but from the looks of it, while he doesn't have any fat on him, the rest of him is pretty lithe muscle. "Yes, reps, and protein drinks. Also, crossfitting words. Um, wait wait, I know one. Planking, yeah that." He puts on a serious face for a few moments but it fades quickly. "And something about kettlebells? I don't know, I think it's kinda funny." Isak opens his mouth, then closes it. "I can't even pretend to be a gym bunny. Or whatever they call men who do that. I've been in this country since I was fourteen and I still get tripped up sometimes speaking English every day." He tosses a hand in the air. "Muscleheads, Lunks, Dudebros, Jocks," Sean rattles off the list on his fingers. "Sorry I really only know English and enough French to make do. American privilege, languages aren't priority." He offers an apologetic shrug at that at least. "Languages are one of those funny things that tend to be forgotten when it comes to art. Once you make something, it doesn't matter what words there are if people can just look at it." "Dude...bros?" Isak makes a face. "That's a new one. Interesting. I'd try to use that but somehow I think it would just be silly from me." He looks up at the wall, then back to Sean. "It becomes unpredictable. We have to be aware of that with ad campaigns. What's considered lewd or inappropriate what would be fine here." "Dudebro is probably the newest. It also comes with the negative aspect of being generally misogynistic and a jerk in general," Sean smiles as he provides context. "The guys you see at parties with popped polo shirts, backward caps, and refer to each other as bro." Nodding to himself, he snerks at the ad campaign comment. "Yeah they have all sorts of things on that in classes. Like the Nova, and that campaign in China for coke that brought back your ancestors." "Yeah, like that. You learn from those examples and learn to not be arrogant on your culture." Isak realizes that construction wasn't quite right, but he lets it sit rather than trying to correct himself. It's charmingly European, right? "Oh theres very little about American culture that I consider worth being arrogant about," Sean rolls his eyes and lets out a breath. "I swear the tea party and right wingers, grrrrrr," he looks like he wants to spit but thinks better against it where he is. "Buncha jerks. The government needs to stay away from people's lives and just let em live." "My dilemma is, a lot of those fine gentlemen wear our suits. And in light of the current economy, my dear aunt isn't willing to risk it. I've been pushing for a younger division for ages. Oh, we have a fashion-forward line for our Hollywood clients, but I'm talking real cutting-edge stuff." Isak snorts. "Risk-averse, I believe is the term." "Oh I know. They're the ones that have the money to purchase half my stuff, and I give Angela free range to gouge jerks." Sean grins at that part. "I'd be happy to see your younger division stuff. Hrm, how much do you have in New York? As I said, I have a friend who will be having a gallery opening soon. It might be nice to wear something different than one of my tuxes. Oh, maybe I can suggest your stuff to him too, it could be good for business. Show your auntie it's young and trendy or something." "Well, the beauty of our suits is that they can be customised in a range of fabrics. So with a little effort, and a little taste, our suits can look as fashion forward as you like. I'm just not allowed to advertise them that way, except on my own body," says Isak with a grin. "And I'm really the best person to help with that. We have a showroom in our headquarters are on Madison Avenue. But our suits are available at fine menswear stores everywhere." He even flashes a cheesy commercial pitchman's grin to help bring home the gag. "It would be more fun to go to the headquarters, but it might be more political to take him to a menswear store instead," Sean bites his lip as if he either wants to grin or smirk. "I don't know how edgie you want your company to appear. After all, he Had been arrested as a terrorist last year." Winking at that he decides to settle it into a smile. "It would probably give your auntie a heart attack." Isak starts to grin a little. "Hmm. This wouldn't be a particularly flamboyant and vocal mutant, would it?" The rebel in him is rather interested in this prospect. "It probably would, but like the person who interpreted gum on the sidewalk...we don't say who gets to wear our suits." "It might be such a person indeed. But as you say who can control who wears your suits," Sean chuckles at the rebellious stream of the one in front of him. "Though whether that is a good business decision or not I leave that to you. They say no such thing as bad publicity after all, but then I don't think they took that into account in a twenty four hour news cycle and social media." "Mhmmm. I'd just argue to my mother and to the board...and to my Aunt back in Stockholm if I have to - that it would have been a far worse press snag if I had refused to sell him a suit. We do have many conservative clients, but we have a large number of liberal thinkers as clients as well. After all, we serve Hollywood." The wheels are turning in Isak's mind. "No one has to know that I helped him make it more...fashion-forward. And if they know," he lifts a shoulder. "Well let's just say I'm already the black lamb of the family." "Well if you are interested, I will gladly mention your company to him as a possible suit source. He rather likes fashion more than I, though I can't say that his fashion choices don't tend towards your aptly described flamboyance." Sean nods a bit thinking. "Hey, I guess I'm not too terrible at business after all. Hurray." "If he wants to do it, send me his measurements. I'll bring some samples and accessories. Best to do it in my flat." Isak goes over to his bag and digs around until he finds a business card. He hands it over to Sean. It's a very high quality off-white card with silver lettering on one side, and black with a silver Blomgren logo embossed on the other side. "I don't happen to carry any cards while I intend to get sweaty. But I'll make sure I contact you on it," Sean says as he pushes buttons on the smartphone awkwardly as he tries to get a picture of it without taking the phone out of the strappy thing. "On second thought I should be less of a dork," he murmurs to himself and slides the card behind the phone in the case. "I'll get in touch with him about it at least. If he isn't interested I may still swing by to get something new and fancy." He smiles and shrugs slightly, then lets out a little sigh. "Speaking of intending to be sweaty, I need to go and get unsweaty if I want to get anything else done today." "And I should do what I actually came here to do," Isak looks up at the wall, then looks to the cardio equipment and grins. He grabs up his bag. "Good to meet you, yeah? Just give me a call when you want to get suited." "I'll see to that yeah. I'd say I'll have my people call your people, but that is silly and pretentious when I can go and knock on your door while wearing pajamas and bunny slippers," Sean says with a grin. Offering a little wave he makes his way towards the elevators to head for home. "Bunny slippers will totally be in this Fall," calls Isak to Sean's retreating back. He tosses a grin, then heads towards the nearest treadmill.