Greg, Stacey, and Viv at the Ricksaw for drinks.
Cygne
I had a dream last night in which I stumbled into a little known hipster subculture centered on the construction and flight of archaic aircraft while dressed in pseudo-authentic period costume.
Among other things, I saw a linen-winged open-frame triplane in flight and met a young man in a vibrantly reimagined riff on the baby-blue service uniform of a Great War French airman. The high-collared tunic had rainbow piping and embroidered logos and symbols on the back, at the elbows, and at the shoulders and breast. This decoration combined the manner of astronaut flight suits, NASCAR track outfits, and the heraldry of motorcycle club colors.
In essence, the garment, as I dreamt it, was an argument that the Great War practice of personalizing pilots’ planes with distinctive unit devices and color schemes is the common ancestor of these more modern coats of manty colors.