“Perfect.” What a funny word! It means so much, to so many! But none can define it for themselves, let alone for someone else. What was perfect for me in a suit of clothes even a mere ten years ago, doesn’t feel or look perfect to me now. Why should it? We are volatile, vulnerable beings in a changing world.
And in a changing world, it behooves us to remember, even change wears a mask and plays at illusion. The wonderful French phrase: “Plus ça change, plus c’est le même chose” (the more things change, the more they stay the same) evokes a whiff of that overly heavy perfume conjuring the feeling of reeling in some kind of nightmare we can’t quite get the meaning of. Is this change? Or is this not only the same old thing, but the same old thing, and possibly worse?