The missus and I popped to the cinema last night, which is rare during the week, but we're decompressing after this year's Cambridge Folk Festival. The few days immediately post-festival are always hard. One is unused to the ebb and flow of workaday bourgeois life, so a few jollies are in order.
I went to see 'Iris', a documentary about 93-year-old New York designer, fashion-icon and all-round-good-egg Iris Apfel. Iris and her 100-year-old husband, Carl, spend their dotage gadding about the place and generally being splendid.
Iris is famous for dressing flamboyantly, and Carl is no slouch either. That's not to say though that they don whatever shite comes off the catwalk, irrespective of how well or poorly designed it might be (are you listening, Donatella Versace?). Instead Iris trawls thrift shops, haberdashers and draperies all over the world looking for inspiration. And she a very exacting eye for what works. Consequently she and Carl look superb, always stylish and stylish on their own terms. No-one dresses quite like them, as indeed no-one should. That would be to miss the point of their endeavours.
Along with their redoubted professional achievements, both are charm personified. They're both possessed of youthful joy, wit and sparkle that would shame most people a third of their age. A combination of interest in the world around you and pure hard work is clearly the way to live long prosper. Forget gluten-free and all that faddy garbage. Get interested in something and apply yourself to it.
It was an inspiration being allowed to glimpse their quotidian lives for 90 minutes. Sadly, I believe Carl passed away shortly after the film was made. But what a life. One could not possibly mourn the end of a tenure as rich as his - but simply salute it. Cheers!
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