The Moogle Ends the Conversation

A Final Fantasy Moogle tattooed permanently on someone’s chest ends the conversation. It doesn’t matter what else Fabienne is wearing—the patterned dress, the nude-colored bra that probably has a twin in her grandmother’s drawer, the half-exposed chest. The Moogle is the whole story. That level of commitment to a fandom bypasses reasonable thinking entirely and goes straight to respect. I would propose on the spot. I would deal with every consequence that followed.

Willabelle is sixteen, from Australia, and already understands something about restraint that most adults never quite manage. Blue blazer, floral dress, silver chain—simple, considered, correct. There’s a line between people who wear clothes and people who think about wearing clothes, and she’s clearly on the right side of it.

Tony runs a blog out of Paris—twenty-six, blue shirt, tattoos, beard, a beautiful girlfriend, a small daughter, art everywhere. Scrolling through his photos produces a particular low-grade envy you can’t quite argue yourself out of. Real style rarely announces itself. His doesn’t. He just looks good and lets you deal with that however you manage.

Justin is wearing colorful bead necklaces, painted nails, stick-on horns, face piercings, and a tattoo on his arm that seems to have come bundled with the appointment. The combined effect is a look that would make Ozzy Osbourne feel overdressed. There’s a version of maximalist chaos that works—this isn’t it. This is a 2007 MySpace profile rendered in flesh. Strip it all down and start again. It’s genuinely not too late.

Agnija is fifteen, from Latvia, and has assembled the most considered outfit of the five: red jacket, light top, white shoes. Clean and quiet, nothing wasted. Sometimes the youngest person in the room is the only one who got it right.