By ANGELO FLACCAVENTO
Considering that it is some sort of highly irrational burst, if not a downright divine enlightenment urging a creator to, well, create, inspiration looks kinda codified of late. You can tell exactly where it comes from and follow its twists and turns in fastidious detail, despite the foggy narrative that keeps being built around it. Inspirations, so it seems, are sold by the ounce in the supermarket of contemporary creation. And they are more or less the same, everywhere and for everyone.
This is a riddle. While fashion designers are a bunch of self-obsessed individuals who oftentimes mistake a flimsy layer of varnish applied onto a piece of sorrowing nothingness for a reinvented wheel, they do not seem to be particularly ashamed of sharing their esoteric inspirations with their peers. They pillage from the same sources. As a result, originality keeps being flushed down the drain. What’s…