Ultrasuede and the AMC Pacer

Damn. They deserve each other. I was thumbing through one of those large coffee table books here in my W Hotel room in Boston and discovered this picture. And it transported me back to the 1970’s. The pocked epoch. 

It wasn't my fault that I became big enough to finally go to the men’s department in the seventies and the trauma of what was awaiting me there began coursing through my veins…washing over my natural fibered carcass as I gandered that picture.

Ultrasuede...I don’t care if that boy Frowick aka Halston went wild with the stuff…contorting the synthetic sueded petroleum to manifest outfits for women. The stuff was and is…wrong.

And wrong in a zillion colors. Shut up.

And the Pacer? Even Toad didn’t succumb to anything nearly as absurd. He stopped at the Vega Cosworth. 

I learned to drive amidst these hideous Detroit excuses but thanks be to God…my daddy saw his way to assure that my first beater was a burnt yellow/orange MG Midget. Mine was identical to this one but with wire wheels...

…and the second was a white Triumph GT-6. But then my dad had the audacity to die soon thereafter and I fell into the automobile abyss. Climbing slowly out of the absurd car fissure with the assistance of…

…my sister’s hand-me-down Ford Pinto…

…then her Maverick.

And thankfully, after I was able to generate my own dough during the summer before college, a respectable Chevrolet Camaro. None of the abovementioned cars had air conditioning. This is a huge issue when the South Carolina summer rolls in on you.

But it’s obvious that I’m not quite over the 70’s—given that one photo could conjure enough cortisol to bring this little story to the surface. And how's this couple for an iconic representation of the 70's? And no, I haven't a clue who this synthetically clad pair of lovebirds is. Five gets you ten that they darted over to an AMC Pacer right after mama snapped this gem of a memory maker. One block away from home and a doobie was burnin' and the eight-track was blasting The Hues Corporation...Rock the Boat.

Thanks for letting me get this off my, quite frankly, rather nice chest. Replete this morning with W Hotel robe and a makeshift tissue pocket square. 

Onward. Rockin' the Boat...now from Boston. ADG II