I'm an imperfectionist

I’m a sucker for imperfection. Messy handwriting, bedhair, cracked nailpolish, off-beat tunes...There’s nothing more perfect than a bit of imperfection done right. Like Haruki Murakami says of Schubert's music, “A dense, artistic kind of imperfection stimulates your consciousness, keeps you alert. If I listen to some utterly perfect performance of an utterly perfect piece while I’m driving, I might want to close my eyes and die right then and there. But listening to the D major, I can feel the limits of what humans are capable of—that a certain type of perfection can only be realized through a limitless accumulation of the imperfect. And personally, I find that encouraging.”

For me the idea applies to many things, not least of them being fashion. As beautiful as those big name fashion editors are, decked out in the latest Balenciaga and Chanel, I prefer fashion that’s a bit more down-to-earth and personal, fashion with a bit more character.
So even though I was tempted to replace my vintage leather jacket with something more hip and "designer" when the shoulder seams ripped last week (the fit is beautifully snug), I decided against it in the end and sent it to the tailors. Not because getting it repaired would be cheaper but because there's something so perfectly imperfect about a little Japanese girl wearing an old motorcycle jacket with the name “Stefan Scheer” hand sewn inside.