I saw this portrait of Louis 18th today. A portly chap. In fact, so I’m told, his legs were so obese they oozed puss and needed constant attention by servants who kept them bandaged and so on.
Funny thing is though, although his face is depicted as being quite fat to give an indication of wealth (access to plenty of fine food) his legs have been painted as being strong and athletic. And his robes were thrown to one side to show off his lovely pins.
My point is that when you exert that amount of power and influence you can have yourself painted in any old way you like.
Nothing’s changed really. People are still slaves to image. We still see politicians and celebrities surround themselves with people who are too stupid, well-paid or loyal to say that you are a pillock.
I, however, in my suburban castle, am different. I do not care what I look like beyond hygiene. My hair is cut with clippers from Argos, my clothes (with a few exceptions) are from St Luke’s Hospice charity shop and my shoes from Shoe Express.
I love myself. My wife loves me. My children love me. My mum loves me. Jesus loves me. (Another man who did not care for fashion as I recall.)
And if no one else loves me, what do I care.
So I do not feel the need to touch my life up with photoshop. Do you?
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