from the vaults of summer

I bring you Ezra.

Who is, in many ways, a departure. Because, as you can surely see, he is not wearing a bike helmet. And, ordinarily, I am not so much interested in just any old of helmet. Although I have surely had some motorcycle helmet envy before.  As motorcycles require that you be propelled only by the motorbike not your poor legs, the manufacturers are not concerned with the creation of confusing air vents for your personal comfort and as such they are provided with a lovely smooth surface to detail and adorn.  Case in point, Ateliers Ruby, whose helmets are so delectable, I am almost inclined to buy a motorbike.

Sadly, Ezra is not strapping on a lush signature-designed Ruby lid, nor is he about to get on his perfectly restored Norton. In fact, he is merely standing outside Danish Blue in St Killme, where all the classy dudes hang out (a coincidence of backdrop only). He is about to get onto his humble commuter pushy. For some reason, he’s smiling like Little Bo Peep. And for some reason, I like that, I just dig on the whole super-safety is sexy, is serious, is striking, is seedy, is south-side of the Yarra. I want to ride Beach Road beside him in some playful Velorbis jobbie. I may even consider wearing a playsuit while doing so.

Next summer.