[This post was written by Eyes (Eyesometric) and originally published on her now deleted blog, “The Eyes Have It”.
It is archived here in a reconstructed version – text saved by thadieu, images recapped by dehggial – with the permission of the author, as part of the White Shirt Archives]
A day in the life of a white shirt:
Being an account of 24 unforgettable hours of sartorial decline
as told by Mr. Sesto’s favourite garment.
Mr. Sesto arose as normal after a little bedroom dalliance but let us not pursue that thought. Decorum at all times, please. He always looks in the mirror to tidy and tuck me in, button me correctly and, quite often, dress me with a suitable tie. However he habitually fails to tie it correctly. A double windsor is so fetching in a gentleman’s atire don’t you think? and I seriously wish he would make more effort especially when he also dons the jacket.
Mr. Sesto was goaded into some sort of altercation with his lady companion and neglected his collar arrangement. The cuffs, however, were satisfactorily turned and not rolled, a pleasing touch.
The altercations took a turn for the worse and, even though Mr. Sesto carefully positioned his jacket over me, which he frequently does because the young ladies admire it so, he became particularly discomforted. I mean – look at the tension in those hands and my collar is just appalling. I do wish he would take more care even if he does have a few things on his mind. My appearance is verging on the casual which I deem highly inappropriate in a young patrician.
Mr. Sesto went back to his ladyfriend’s dwelling, this time wearing the jacket – but not for long. She spent an inordinate amount of time trying to persuade him to do some task or other and I have learnt to my cost that her persuasion techniques usually include the removal of garments, frequently in haste. I dread to think what almost became of me whilst they frolicked on the floor. So plebeian. I was so distracted by her heaving bosom that I did not catch the full gist of the conversation but I think it involved a knife and that Emperor fellow Tito … strange chap; occasionally wears a skirt.
Just look at the state of me now! I have no idea how it occurred but there was an almighty conflagration – smoke damage everywhere and I can’t imagine how many washes it will take to rectify this situation. Worse still, there was blood as Mr. Sesto attacked a gentleman in the dark. Note to self: I do hope he makes an appointment at Casa Figaro soon.
Mr. Sesto’s bosom pal Mr. Annio arrived to try and improve his mood. He was looking pretty dreadful too – he will need to take that suit to the cleaners forthwith.
Nice enough fellow but he does seem to prefer cheap blue shirts bought by the dozen from sexyshirtsroma.com. I, of course, was a bespoke purchase, tailored at Gaetano Alosio. I do believe Mr. Publio has an account there also.
Mr Publio may wear exceedingly good shirts but he can really cut up rough on occasions. He came to arrest Mr. Sesto and stretched my seams almost to breaking point. It is fortunate that Mr. Sesto was wearing an undergarment.
Well…. After a dreadful night in the cells Mr. Sesto eventually was forgiven, his ladyfriend sorted things out with Emperor Tito although her makeup was particularly strange and I do think it rather pretentious to wear sun spectacles indoors. I was sent to Il Miglior Lavanderia, Roma and was back with Mr. Sesto in no time at all.
It was not too long before he was back to his old romantic tricks, serenading under balconies.