Love the clothes, hate the purple prose
BECAUSE powdery jasmine wreaths, strung in offering, prove that a simple gesture is often the most meaningful. BECAUSE witnessing a procession of marigold-wrapped monks (barefoot, silent, endless) is transcendent. BECAUSE the quietly building fire of soupy curries, tempered by the juicy relief of never-riper, never-sweeter mango, ignites your entirety. BECAUSE the fulsome floral garlands and sun-faded buntings that honour gods and kings remind you that to adorn is human instinct. BECAUSE even the humble alphabet’s curly-curvy characters seem outlandishly glamorous. BECAUSE crumbled ruins and gleaming temples stand side-by-side, neither claiming more gravity, trading moments ethereal and down-to-earth. BECAUSE breezes are weighed down by coriander, galangal and kaffir lime. BECAUSE green-crowned palms and spindly bamboo tiptoe to brush the sky. BECAUSE the earth yields greener and lusher and newer here than any place other. BECAUSE the warmth is cultural as well as climatalogical. BECAUSE at dawn, the sun doesn’t rise so much as slowly sets the day aglow.
This is from an Anthropologie catalogue I received yesterday. ‘ignites your entirety’? ‘tiptoe to reach the sky’? So much of this cries out for the blue pencil. Do you think other people just don’t notice or, heaven help us, think this is good writing? It didn’t stop me being tempted by something I saw on their online site yesterday (until I clocked ‘hand wash’) but perlease, don’t send me this rubbish.