the eye of the beholder

I've always been (somewhat) interested in fashion, though my limited knowledge of it comes from following fashion blogs and speed-browsing through Vogue while at the grocery checkout line. I wouldn't necessarily call myself tres chic (i'm a total cheapo and frequent shopper of forever 21 & H&M). But the world of fashion intrigues me, and that was why I initially wanted to watch "Bill Cunningham New York", a documentary about the New York Times fashion photographer.

What I didn't realize was that I'd be so touched by the story of this happy, little old man and his singular love & passion for his craft. And how it all came so naturally to him- the photography, the city, the clothes, the people... it wasn't work, it was his pleasure. Surrounded by the froufrou grandeur of the New York celebrities and socialites he photographs, he lives contently with his meager wardrobe and minimalist lifestyle- averse to any forms of praise or monetary rewards. Most of the documentary follows Bills everyday life and displays his lovable nature as he comes in contact to a wide spectrum of people from ordinary folks on the streets to journalists/art directors at the Times to the "who's who of New York" at fancy galas to the models at the Paris Fashion Week.

However, what really came out of left field for me was this extremely poignant moment when the documentarist (?) set Bill down and started asking about his personal life, specifically about his romantic relationships (or lack thereof) and his religion. As someone who grew up in a Catholic home and still attends church every Sunday (despite his hectic schedule), Bill paused for an uncomfortable length of time when asked about this subject. He slightly let out what sounded like a sob, and tried to explain casually that he had always gone to church since he was a child (though his eyes would always be looking at women's hats) and religion has been a good guide to life. But then he went on further saying that as one matures, it becomes "something else" (mind you, this is loosely quoted, because I can't remember his exact words). These two questions regarding his romantic life and his religious life seemed to have hit a nerve. The question about his romantic life (or rather the implicit question of whether he was gay) was never explicitly answered, but the roundabout way in which it was, suggested that perhaps his religious upbringing came in conflict with his personal desires (though this may be just me assuming too much). Nevertheless, my heart went out to this man who lived a fulfilling, yet solitary life.

Now my eyes will be peeled for a wobbly, old man in a blue jacket biking his way through the streets of New York. And if I ever see him zip past me, I'll run after him and give a big fat hug to this beautiful human being.