Tusk Homme
Before I knew it, this Substack had survived a whole year. Twelve months ago, my first writing was on Dries Van Noten stepping off the runway of fashion to tend flowers and chase fish, becoming a diligent and contented gardener. And now, twelve months later, I’ve decided to turn my idle thoughts—those scattered among park blossoms, birdsong, and the flicker of pond fish—into something real: sharing my nearly two decades of fashion collections with the world.
The idea had always been there, dormant. You could say it was five years in the making, or maybe twenty-five. For as long as I can remember, clothes and shoes have been my lens to the world—sometimes a telescope, other times a microscope, and occasionally a funhouse mirror. Thanks to my parents, I became an observer early on, and later, as an adult, a participant.
My friends and family supported the idea, especially my wife, who selflessly offered her space to house my selection. The name came easily: my fashion awakening began with Hedi Slimane’s Dior Homme, so Tusk Homme (my wife’s shop) felt like the purest homage.
People often ask my wife why she named it Tusk. She says she liked the sound of the word—that sharp, abrupt pause. Pronouncing it almost requires a mutated Wim Hof breath. You inhale deeply, filling your lungs, expecting to exhale just as freely, but at the last microsecond, the breath swallowed in your throat. Like a sudden scene switch in Severance, you’re left unsure whether you’re choking or climaxing. Your body, momentarily reminded by Bruce Nauman’s breathing, thrums with an indescribable high.
A project can be concrete or abstract. A life, too. In my first decade as a fashion buyer, I wrestled daily over the perfect balance between profit and aesthetics. When I was young, my thoughts were microscopic, literal—a basis point on the margin or a right button. Over time, the conversations grew broader, but most of them unfolded in a fog, waiting for that fleeting moment of total and absolute clarity. Sometimes it was the electric hum of Paris during summer fashion week, like that sweaty and loud energy filled in those narrow streets. Other times, it was the crushing weight of imperial decline we are all feeling everyday, or just the exhaustion of seeing yet another parade of billowy trousers with Sambas.
But no matter how you spin it, working for capitalist corporates is essentially trading your life for money. The only variables are how much you are willing to trade for, all of which belong to the bosses and shareholders. Now, striking out on my own, I find myself adrift. Should I finally allow myself to be as indulgent as I can or play the altruist? Twelve years of China’s test-driven schooling and two decades of capitalist conditioning have left me staring into the mirror, unsure who I even am. The reflection fractures—parents, bosses, teachers, friends, enemies. Maybe one superpower that comes with aging is the slow erosion of the need to conform. The stronger I grow, the less I feel compelled to quote dead luminaries, attend obligatory dinners and parties, wear certain designers, or drink certain wines. It is a true blessing to begin to see what is enough. The second half of life feels like enrolling in my own university, becoming my own professor, earning my own credits, unlearning everything of what I was taught in the first forty years.
After spending almost half a lifetime studying the relationship between fine garments and person trying to hide or reveal underneath, all I want now is to take off my shoes in the corner, strip away every last stitch of clothing, and toss out the mental straitjacket. Every piece in the shop is an extension of my being, hung on the rack as is. I have no more secrets, no more constraints. Every visitor who walks in can finally see me and have a chat, completely free.
转眼间这个Substack已经存活了一年。一年前的这个月，Dries Van Noten决定退出时装的舞台，专注养花捉鱼，做一个辛勤而快乐的园丁。一年后的这个月，我决定把自己在公园里观花赏鸟戏鱼间的想法变成现实，把自己将近20年的时装收藏展示给大众。
其实这个想法一直就有，可以说5年，也可以说25年。从我有意识的开始，衣与鞋就成为了我认识世界的眼镜：有时是望远镜，有时是显微镜，更有时是哈哈镜。也因为父母的影响，我不仅很小就成为了一个观察者，成年以后更成为了参与者。
朋友家人也很支持，妻子更是无私地鼓励我把自己的收藏放在她的空间。名字倒也来的简单：我时装的启蒙是Hedi Slimane的Dior Homme，那Tusk（妻子的店名）Homme就是我最好的致敬。
经常会听到顾客问我老婆为什么叫Tusk，她的回应是喜欢这个词的声音，以及一种急促的停顿。发声的时候似乎是变种的Wim Hof。让你一次吸足氧气，在以为同时可以畅快地吐出同样容量的二氧化碳时却让你吞掉最后一微秒的那口气，如Severance里的忽然换景，不知道是要窒息还是高潮。身体也忽然被Bruce Nauman附体，感觉到一种不可名状的High。
一个项目可以很具体也可以很抽象。一段人生亦如此：在时装采购的前十年打拼的我每天绞尽脑汁想的是如何在Profit与审美间获得完美的平衡。年轻的时候想的很微观也很字面：一个基点，一颗扣子。时间久了以后对话慢慢变大变宽，但绝大多数在一种混沌的状态里琢磨，等待与找寻那个转瞬即逝的云开见月：有时是在夏天时装周巴黎街头每个人汗里都能感觉到的一种能量，有时是觉得此时的世界那种帝国末日的无力感，有时只是看累了大裤子，肥鞋子。
但不管怎样为上市公司打工说白了就是那命换钱，不同的是多少，时间却永远地交给了老板与股东。而这次完全自己做自己，却一时找不到了方向。是装逼还是做雷锋？12年的应试教育加上快20年的资本主义洗脑，在镜子前的我早已不知道自己是谁。看到了竟是无数的分身：父母，老板，老师，朋友，敌人。似乎年纪大了的一个超级能力是去附和的压力渐渐变小。好像自己强大以后不再需要经常引用古人名人，也不必因谁出席而勉强赴宴，不需要一定买谁做的鞋，喝谁酿的酒。够了就好，似乎自己的后半生是上自己的大学，做自己的老师，修自己的学分，忘却所学。
在花了快半辈子研究锦衣与风骨的关系我现在最想的只是把鞋放在墙角，拖掉身上所有的衣裳，扔掉头上的紧箍咒。店里每一件衣物就是我最贴近的存在，这里我再也没有秘密，没有束缚，每位来的客人我们终于可以心无旁骛地畅心交谈。