Cary Grant and my fingers | Fashion | The USA Print

How are Cary Grant and a silicone finger-stretching contraption alike? In his subtlety, in the imperceptible of his work. Also that both are good for health. One Sunday morning I gave myself over to Página en blanco, a comedy by Stanley Donen that, as that man filmed everything, feeds your heart. In it, Grant plays an English aristocrat who finds himself forced to rent his mansion and to whom changes cost: of woman, of country, of time, of crossword… His interpretation seems to be born from a place without weight and without effort. He, one of the most admired performers in history, downplayed his importance: “If you want to be an actor, all you have to do is learn your phrases and not bump into other actors.” how horny I wish it was that easy. His resources are barely perceptible to whoever looks. He fills the screen being, just being. To be you have to be.

And here is a person with orange and green separators between their fingers and toes. These gadgets are between orthopedics and a toy. In addition, said person is lying on a mat on some rubber balls. He doesn’t do anything, he doesn’t move a muscle, he’s just there. It’s me, not Cary Grant, and it’s the accessories that Marisol, my trainer, proposes to exercise. It seems that you do nothing, but the work is intense. She defines it with a certain poetry: “It’s about conquering your body, starting small to reach the big one. It happens as in life: you can’t get to someone abruptly”. These achiperres work muscles and joints gently so that the body does not become defensive. The simile with the personal writes itself. The new way of training is subtle or it is not. Goodness.

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The subtle form of the word is its background: it is light as the wing of a hummingbird. Other words are also portrayed. Scandal, with its open vowels, is a scandalous word that you want to pronounce with your arms akimbo, and whispering it asks to be said in your ear. Whisperers are, for me and for a year, all perfumes. Since I suffered covid I have not fully recovered my sense of smell. It’s like they turned the volume down on the scents. I approach my perfume table and notice them shy. My poor Musc Ravageur, my poor Chanel No. 5, my poor Atman Xaman and my poor Santal Palo Rosa, according to my pituitary, smell like cologne. They continue to speak their language, but I hear them far away.

The independent Japanese brands I find at Bijo also whisper to me. Cokon Lab, Makanai, Rei Tokio… they are ethereal. I admire colors like those of Waphyto, sensations like those caused by Eau de Ki. I love the delicacy of him; however, when I apply them, that same delicacy surpasses me. I have my doubts about whether they are the most suitable cosmetics for our western skins and lives. We are not prepared for such extreme subtlety. I once ate at a Japanese restaurant where they served me a single strawberry for dessert. There she was, horizontal and fuchsia, without decorations. It happened during a few years when she traveled to Japan frequently for work. I always felt there on Mars and I liked that; It relaxed me to be an alien. On those trips he had time to observe the women who walked by dressed in the traditional way. Someone explained to me that in summer they wear printed kimonos with winter motifs to ‘refresh’ those who look at them and on cold days they choose warm motifs to comfort them. It is impossible to be more subtle, more elegant and more Cary Grant than these Japanese women.

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