The common thread behind these disparate ventures is Mr. Brûlé himself, who embodies the border-agnostic sophisticate whom the Monocle brand is built around. His globe-trotting persona (cocktails-with-Danish-diplomats intellectualism, sleeper-seat jaunts to Taipei) has inspired legions of followers, who hang on his oracular pronouncements on what’s next.Nobody forced me to read this. Nobody is forcing me to read his magazines (and I haven't) or buy his favored goods (again, I haven't), a sampling of which the Times helpfully lists in a sidebar accompanying the article.
And yet, Brûlé bugs the hell out of me.
When there is so much wrong with the world -- when so many lack even basic necessities like food and water -- it seems obscene to give men like him such attention.
"Fashion" and "style" of the sort the Times fetishizes in this piece are such insipid and inappropriately frivolous preoccupations these days, I'd be embarrassed if I gave a damn.
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