Category Archives: Fashion

I Almost Bought This Holiday Cape, Except …

I am such a sucker for online ads these days. I’ve been toying with a colorful Saks Fifth Avenue kimono for the past few weeks, watching it dip below $500 then $319 before wisely giving up on such nonsense when I’m on display for all of two people. (One of whom is myself.)

But when I saw this sweet little plaid holiday mantle, and at a very reasonable $165 from Ralph Lauren, I quickly clicked and looked for the button to plop it in my cart. I hit the size option and then something odd happened, it just said 2-6x. Now, figuring this was a woman’s item, I was going to try a 2XL if that was the smallest they had – besides, in a poncho, bigger is always better.

Turns out this was a girl’s item. I guess 2-6x is a kid’s size thing.

PS – Fuck the internet.

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Harry Styles is My Hero

And he earns his namesake in this month’s ‘Vogue’ cover story. He impressed me with his red-carpet turn at the Met Gala a couple seasons back when he wore something sheer and frilly by Dior, and since then he’s been gleefully gender-bending his sartorial choices in the most glorious fashion. I’m thinking I may be alive after all to witness the day when men in dresses aren’t that big a deal. About damn time. 

“There’s so much joy to be had in playing with clothes. I’ve never thought too much about what it means – it just becomes this extended part of creating something.” ~ Harry Styles

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Sympathy For the Vampire Outfits

PLEASE ALLOW ME TO INTRODUCE MYSELF
I’M A MAN OF WEALTH AND TASTE
I’VE BEEN AROUND FOR A LONG, LONG YEAR
STOLE MANY A MAN’S SOUL TO WASTE
AND I WAS ‘ROUND WHEN JESUS CHRIST
HAD HIS MOMENT OF DOUBT AND PAIN
MADE DAMN SURE THAT PILATE
WASHED HIS HANDS AND SEALED HIS FATE

Like many gay men of a certain age, I went through my own ‘Interview With a Vampire’ phase. It happened mostly when the books were cresting on the bestseller lists, and had a brief Renaissance when the movie version with Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt came out. That movie was playing on television the other day and while it hasn’t aged as well as I remember it (I was all in on the fantasy and over-acting realm back then) it still has a killer ending with an amazing song that segues seamlessly into the rolling credits. It’s not the original ‘Sympathy for the Devil’ by Rolling Stones, but the cover done by the rock band of my generation ‘Guns N’ Roses’ that brings it all home here. I’m not mad about it, and I won’t be judged for it. Much as I won’t be judged for my outfits of the time, which I jauntily wore to the supermarket with Suzie. Hannaford didn’t know what hit it, and I was amused and annoyed at the reactions. Live and let live.

PLEASED TO MEET YOU
HOPE YOU GUESS MY NAME
BUT WHAT’S PUZZLING YOU
IS THE NATURE OF MY GAME

Ahh the 90’s – and oh what a fashion world I fashioned for myself. Caught somewhere between International Male, Merry Go Round, and urban outfitters, I was such a hot mess I couldn’t even begin to explain what was on my mind and how or why I made such sartorial choices. Trying on different guises at break-neck speed, mostly I was searching for an identity without realizing that changeability is the toughest personality trait to identify and own. Frilly shirts and top hats and neck bites? The lure of the vampires would do just as well as any number of costumes. Their decadence and unabashed hunger appealed to me as well.

I STUCK AROUND ST. PETERSBURG
WHEN I SAW IT WAS A TIME FOR A CHANGE
KILLED THE CZAR AND HIS MINISTERS
ANASTASIA SCREAMED IN VAIN
I RODE A TANK
HELD A GENERAL’S RANK
WHEN THE BLITZKRIEG RAGED
AND THE BODIES STANK
PLEASED TO MEET YOU
HOPE YOU GUESS MY NAME, OH YEAH
WHAT’S PUZZLING YOU
IS THE NATURE OF MY GAME, OH YEAH

There were more serious underlying themes to the vampires as well. AIDS was still ravaging the gay community. An exchange of bodily fluids could be deadly. Blood was once again a matter of life and death. I didn’t delve that deeply. Embracing their superficial appearance, and the darkly romanticized atmospheres of New Orleans and Paris, I focused on the horse-drawn carriages with velvet curtains, satin capes that flowed and floated, and the outward trappings of Anne Rice’s fantastical vampire world. There was safety in staying solely on the surface.

I WATCHED WITH GLEE
WHILE YOUR KINGS AND QUEENS
FOUGHT FOR TEN DECADES
FOR THE GODS THEY MADE
I SHOUTED OUT
WHO KILLED THE KENNEDYS?
WHEN AFTER ALL
IT WAS YOU AND ME
LET ME PLEASE INTRODUCE MYSELF
I’M A MAN OF WEALTH AND TASTE
AND I LAID TRAPS FOR TROUBADOURS
WHO GET KILLED BEFORE THEY REACHED BOMBAY

There was evil in wading no deeper than the surface as well. Escaping the reality of the early gay 90’s didn’t mean I could escape from myself. It only delayed certain inevitable heartbreak and hurt. It delayed meeting and facing the person beneath the frills. A costume was not only a mask to the outer world, it disguised me from seeing into who I was as well. I was not immune to losing myself to the games I played. Part of the elaborate dress-capades were certain elements of distraction, designed to keep everyone off the scent of my tracks when cologne wasn’t enough.

PLEASED TO MEET YOU
HOPE YOU GUESSED MY NAME, OH YEAH
BUT WHAT’S CONFUSING YOU
IS JUST THE NATURE OF MY GAME
JUST AS EVERY COP IS A CRIMINAL
AND ALL THE SINNERS SAINTS
AS HEADS IS TAILS
JUST CALL ME LUCIFER
‘CAUSE I’M IN NEED OF SOME RESTRAINT
SO IF YOU MEET ME
HAVE SOME COURTESY
HAVE SOME SYMPATHY, AND SOME TASTE
USE ALL YOUR WELL-LEARNED POLITESSE
OR I’LL LAY YOUR SOUL TO WASTE

Mostly, though, these sartorial shenanigans were what passed for entertainment at a time when other past-times could have quite literally proved deadly. In the small town of Amsterdam, home from college on Thanksgiving or Christmas break, I would prowl the nights decked out in such silly finery, and the worst that might happen were a few snickers or raised eyebrows at the check-out line at K-Mart. That didn’t bother or offend me. My self-ordained fabulousness shone so brightly and so intently that it obliterated everything in my path – even, and perhaps especially, ignorance and ridicule. Like those fabled vampires, I felt invincible, untouchable, and impeccable. If it only took a top hat and velvet cape to make myself feel like a hero, how far from the real thing could I have been?

PLEASED TO MEET YOU
HOPE YOU GUESSED MY NAME
BUT WHAT’S PUZZLING YOU
IS THE NATURE OF MY GAME
TELL ME BABY, WHAT’S MY NAME
TELL ME HONEY, CAN YA GUESS MY NAME
TELL ME BABY, WHAT’S MY NAME
I TELL YOU ONE TIME, YOU’RE TO BLAME

On those November nights leading into the holidays, when madness and debauchery and glamour collide, I can still feel the pull of sumptuous fabrics and candlelit rooms of mystery and dark allure, where shadows hid both honor and baseness. Whispers of vampires, caresses of fangs, and the metallic sting of blood can be the stuff of kisses or death. No bejeweled costume could save me from that.

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Shoes of Lilac Brocade

I haven’t dressed up in months. 

We haven’t had occasion to do so.

But it’s nice to remember what it’s like to put on a fancy pair of shoes and a dinner jacket.

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The Sky Isn’t the Only Dramatic Thing Here

Most of my spectacular summer outfits have gone unseen this year thanks to the current state of the world, and I’m surprisingly ok with that. (It also helps that I haven’t really purchased much new clothing this summer.) It takes a certain amount of effort to get all gussied up all the time. The past few months have realigned the importance of fashion and dressing up in my small world, but glimmers of the old fashion horse remain, and I can still get into the saddle on a moment’s notice. My closets run deep, my closets run wide, and my closets run free. 

Back in the early days, when it looked like we might return to some degree of normalcy, when I still had some faith that we as Americans could put on our fucking masks for a few weeks and behave until this virus was under control, I ordered this bright, ridiculous, Barney-hued caftan. How wrong I was, but how right this caftan turned out to be. So on a moody day when clouds rolled quickly overheard and were putting on a dramatic show, and moods of the interior mirrored the changeable sky, I slipped into this silly outfit and pranced around the backyard recalling when such performances once had an appreciative audience, and the comforting murmurs of friendly conversations near and distant filled the silence. 

The fuchsia necklace of wooden beads was a purchase from Savannah, Georgia, at a little street market by the river. The hat – a statement hat if ever there was one – was a $5 steal at the end of a summer season in Ogunquit, Maine. It was on one of our fall trips there, so it stayed in the attic, untouched, for many seasons until the sun came out again. And the sunglasses – Toms – were from The Tannery in Boston, when it was still open, when the world seemed safer, and saner. Who knew they were having all the troubles they were having long before the virus took hold? It seems fashion attracts drama, or maybe it works the other way. 

Above all else, fashion should be fun. It should be playful, reminiscent of the unabashed joy and frivolity many of us lose with the decline of childhood. Somehow, in spite of all my jaded predilections and faux-ultra-serious stances, I’ve managed to retain the kernel of play that allows me to parade around like a fool, even at this lofty age. If you can’t be silly, how can anyone take you seriously? 

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Summer Hair, Don’t Care

I’ve only had one haircut since winter, and I’m almost due for another, but I find myself less interested in maintaining the perfect coif these days. A similarly strange phenomenon has happened with my clothing choices – hence this stringy tank top that I would have scoffed at a mere six months ago – as much from the winter cold as for its cheese-factor. Now, it’s just the most comfortable and relaxed piece of clothing when I’m working in the garden or lunching on the patio. My entire wardrobe has undergone a comparable transformation, something I attribute as much to the summer season as to the new/old work-from-home situation that continues.

Summer hair, don’t care‘ is a mantra I’ve recently embraced, and this relaxed attitude has seeped into what I wear as well. In fact, it will be difficult to get back into the ties and button-down shirts that fall and work customarily require. There was an article in the New York Times that described an analogous shift in fashion, in the way its importance and influence has waned during this pandemic, and the way the entire fashion world has changed, possibly forever. It wasn’t as mournful as I expected it to be, not unlike this quiet summer.

It’s a new world, and embracing it is easier than holding on to antiquated traditions. Learning to let go is a lesson of summer that might do well to inform the coming fall…

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When In Doubt, Default to Ford

“If I’m going out in the world, I should make everything look as good as it can by looking my best, it’s a show of respect. Maybe a lot of you are thinking ‘oh he’s so full of it’, but this is how I feel, is that it’s a show of respect to other people who have to look at you! You should try to look as good as you can look and help make the scenery look good.” ~ Tom Ford

Maybe the heat had finally gotten to me. When it’s a hot and humid 97 degrees outside, that can happen. Especially when we’re social distancing and trying to survive a world-wide pandemic. And so I woke on a sultry summer morning, feeling not quite perky enough to face the day, before remembering Tom Ford’s advice to get dressed up whenever you feel as if you’re in a funk. It’s actually good advice, even if the temperatures would argue against a suit and tie. Yet another example of leading with your physical self to condition your mental self into following suit. Despite years of practiced pessimism, it really does work. At least for me, and for the momentary lifting of a mental cloud. It realigns the perspective and thinking, and it tricks you into mentally re-inhabiting those moments when you were decked out and ready to take on the world.

I picked up this day-glo jacket the last time I was in New York, while on a ‘Swan Lake’ extravaganza with Suzie. In January, it looked like we had a whole spring of wardrobe opportunities. Somewhat needless to say, it stayed on its hanger, tags still attached, until I finally used it to brighten an otherwise mundane day when I needed its jolt of happy color. The lavender Brooks Brothers shirt peeking out was a pre-COVID purchase as well, back when I was still dressing decently for weekday office work. Suiting back up already felt foreign, and it struck me how much and how quickly our world has shifted. There was something terrifying in that, and so I pulled an orange bow tie around my neck, hoping to harness the fear, the unknown, the impulse to freak out. Grateful for the fact that bow-ties are supposed to be messy, I didn’t bother retying it, but embraced its wayward style. This was just for me, and this new version of me, forged in the past few months of all sorts of self-improvement endeavors, has come to appreciate the good-enough rather than insisting on the perfect.

That may be the greatest lesson of this year.

“Glamour is something more than what you put on your body. It has to do with the way you carry yourself and the impact you have on others.” ~ Tom Ford

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Mask and You Shall Receive: Kema’s Kreations

Every year has its notable fashion accessory – for 2020 that must be the mask. It may not seem as fun as some silly ‘Sex & the City’ flower, but it serves both style and safety, which is more than most fashion fads can claim. Many of us are stocking up on masks for the foreseeable future, and if we can do it by supporting a local artisan, so much the better. Andy found Kema’s Kreations right on Orange Street in Albany, convenient to where my office is located, and Kema supplied the very first masks we bought back in March. Since then we and my parents have placed several orders, each time just as satisfied and pleased with her products, which are as pretty as they are comfortable. She offers a number of fabric options as well. As can be seen here, I found a mask to perfectly match one of my ties (and my black and white hair for that matter). As they say in ‘Steel Magnolias’, “The only thing that separates us from the animals is our ability to accessorize.”

To that end, a few talented designers have stepped in to provide masks at such an important and dire time in history. Kema is one of those artists who has used her designer seamstress skills to become a vital supplier of face masks. While she was happily going about her business, specializing in bags and embroidery, the pandemic hit, and masks were suddenly all the mandated rage. Turning her keen eye to the business possibility at hand, she shifted her products to include face masks, which suddenly took over in everyone’s haste and demand for face coverings.

Today she says the face masks are one of her most popular items, and given the variety and quality, along with the exceptional customer service she provides, it’s a moment of synergy where artistry and demand and function blissfully intersect. You can have her items personalized through embroidery too, so if you need something special or simply want to stand apart from the masked crowd, special requests are always entertained. If and when the mask business wanes, her bags and embroidery and other design options are worth a look (she has some great t-shirts too). Her website offers a recounting of her journey, revealing how she has come to hem and mend our crazy world.

She remembers the feeling of her 4-year old finger sliding across the tile floor, gently tracing its delicate floral pattern. The sun warming her face as a gentle breeze carries the scents and sounds of Panama throughout her mother’s sewing room as she was… Hemming and Mending.

Years later, home economics reawakened long suppressed memories of the time she spent with her mother in the warmth of her sewing room and all her beautiful and vibrant creations. Her deft fingers quickly set to work, and the admiration of classmates resulted in requests to wear her creation of long, straight lined dress with short sleeves. Kema created in her mind and developed her craft by Hemming and Mending.

The appreciation for her creations developed her confidence and she applied to Fashion Industries High School to major in fashion design and merchandising.  Her sewing addiction was supported by winning dance contests, always wearing a Kema original to showcase the finesse used to command the stage. Brooklyn’s Hoyt Street, and Delancey Street in Manhattan, were more than happy to share in her success.   Disenchanted by an industry that didn’t support the beauty of curvaceous women, Kema decided to design and create captivating pieces which accentuate the body in all its marvelousness.  Kema’s Kreations hems society’s definition of beauty by entertaining the senses with visual statements of amazement and mends the soul of its people by giving them original craftmanship to celebrate their unique beauty. ~ Kema’s Kreations

{For more information and to order face masks, visit Kema’s website here.}

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Missing the Met Gala

I’ll never be a guest at the Met Gala, but every year I watched faithfully to see what everyone wore on the red carpet for the up-until-now annual event that took place on the first Monday of May. Like most things this spring, and probably most of the summer, the Met Gala was canceled due to our current state of affairs. That meant we missed out on fashion’s most important night (yes, the Met Gala gorgeously beats out the Oscars and every other red carpet night). 

There was some sort of online hashtag challenge this year to dress up and post pics online but I didn’t quite care enough to look into it with any seriousness. Instead, I pulled this canary ruff out of the attic closet and propped it up behind a head of hair that I left unruly and spiky in avant garde honor. I needed something sunny and bright, something equal parts Big Bird and Phyllis Diller and Lemon Party. Those who attempt to create beauty, even when they fail, are bound to something gorgeously noble. 

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Crop Top Renaissance

It turns out this ‘Weird Science’ post wasn’t my first foray into the crop top. For a Valentine’s Day shoot I did with Andy many, many years ago, I slipped into these 80’s-inspired looks and held a bottle of beer to add to the trashy scene we hoped to conjure. It exemplified an opposites-attract vibe, while playing up people’s perceived images of what we were like together. (Nothing is what it seems.)

As the world grows ever-darker around us, we need these moments of play and memory. They illuminate the blackest of hallways, lighting the way around the shadiest corners. They give laughter and life to days in which many of us are struggling to find that touchstone of humor. I never expected that half a wig and a trucker’s cap would lift my spirits, but here we are. It’s a brave new world. Hang onto your hats. And your crotches.

When the time is fraught with danger and uncertainty, I find myself looking back to such vintage moments and remembering how things used to be. It’s strange and unsettling, and probably to the best way of coping. My usual stance is looking unflinchingly forward to the future. That keeps me going. But when that path is laden with doubt, perhaps these vintage recollections aren’t entirely bad. Happy memories can fortify the heart in unhappy times. 

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Fashion Will Not Die On This Hill

With many of us working from home these days, I have a feeling that some have given in to the comfort and ease of not having to dress up or make themselves the least bit presentable, and I just want to send out this plea to the universe that you STOP IT IMMEDIATELY. We are better than this. We are so much better than this. Just because no one’s going to be seeing you is no reason to give in to laziness and destructive habits. Rail against the death knell of sweats and slippers! 

On my first day of working from home, I toned it down with a Tallia tracksuit, patterned with chrysanthemums and cranes, and a spritz of ‘Black Saffron’ by Byredo. It’s in the same cozy vein as Tom Ford’s ‘Tuscan Leather’ which was perfect for the snowy day on which it was applied. In addition to looking good, one should smell good too. Don’t give up, people. Don’t let me down. Let’s lift it. You’ll feel better, I promise. 

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A Coat Reborn in Sparkling Fashion

Have you ever had a project you were working on that you didn’t want to end? It may have started off as a chore, but along the way you grew to love it, and by its completion you realized part of you didn’t want it to end? Maybe it was a really good book that you enjoyed so much you rushed through it, rapidly turning the pages until the last chapter, or a television series that you paused binge-watching midway through because you wanted to make it last. Such was the happy conundrum I found myself in when I was nearing the end of finishing a coat for our upcoming trip to New York.

Doing my best to curb some shopping and trying a new turn at sustainability (yawn), I’ve been recycling outfits and wardrobe instead of buying new things, and part of that involved updating a floral embroidered coat that I’ve worn for special times like anniversaries in Boston. With the bright lights of Broadway beckoning with ‘Plaza Suite’, a celebration of Skip’s birthday, an intimate performance by Betty Buckley at the Cafe Carlysle, and a weekend at the Plaza, I wanted something that would sparkle. While this coat had more than enough pizzazz to make a statement, updating it for a new decade meant pushing it completely over the top, with a few pounds of crystal beads employed for the revamping. With its floral pattern already outlined, it was just a matter of matching the beads to their background. It would be a heavy undertaking, and I understood the cost and labor and time involved in a single item of clothing that is so embellished. There was a valuable lesson in that.

In a dire winter, sewing each crystal bead onto the coat became an act of sanity, a thread connecting the otherwise-wayward days and nights into a singular purpose, taking my eyes off other troubling concerns and giving me a pretty focus with a goal that suddenly felt secondary to the act itself. It felt good crawling into bed at the end of a long sewing session, my fingers aching in the best possible way, reminding me of work done well, of a sense of accomplishment. Slowly but consistently, I worked diligently at my task, beneath the bright task lighting in the basement, beside the fire, returning to a few seasons of ‘Schitt’s Creek’, the iconic ‘Gentlemen Prefer Blondes’ with Marilyn Monroe, and a double-viewing of Tom Ford’s ‘A Single Man’ playing in the background. The coat grew in fabulousness, as well as tangible weight. After every session, I would slip it on, turning in the mirror to see what was left to do, witnessing and thrilling at how the beads were catching and throwing off the light. As the floral design was encrusted with crystals, I realized I was nearing the end.

The last part involved replacing the buttons. Strangely, when the coat came into my possession, it had these old, worn, brown wooden buttons completely at odds with the style and color of the coat itself, and probably thrown on when one of the original buttons went missing. Instead of buttons, as I didn’t intend to button this coat, I used large faceted crystals in shades of amethyst and emerald. As the final beads went on, and I neared the last part of the embellishment process, I found myself slowing and stalling. I understood I didn’t want it to end.

I also understood that I would need a new project soon. A night in New York is over far too quickly, no matter how brightly one may sparkle.

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Holiday Pants

These are two pairs of holiday pants.

Some would say they’re my ‘Go-to-Hell’ pants.

As in, “If you don’t like them, you can go-to-hell.”

I’ll take both descriptions and own them.

I’m also going to wear the fuck out of these puppies this year because I finally fit my ass back into them thanks to a regimen of cutting out alcohol and eating what basically amounts to bird food. You know what they say: nothing tastes as good as skinny feels. 

I’m kidding, partly. I just finished off a bunch of pecan pralines, recipe forthcoming… and I intend to enjoy the holiday sweets and savories. All in moderation. 

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Tom Ford in Pink & Fuchsia

Holiday gift idea alert!

Tom Ford just added two of my favorite colors to his underwear line and just in time for the Christmas gift-giving season: fuchsia and pink. I was going to go for the boxer briefs since it’s almost winter, but at this price point I’ll allow for the briefs since it shaves some dollars off. Size small will work, as these run extra big, and I’m doing my best to lose a few pounds. This would be the ultimate incentive. Again, first choice is fuchsia, second is pale pink. I’ll even take them in red if the pink shades are gone. See, I’m totally flexible. {Order here.}

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Of Velvet & Underwear

Certain robes carry certain magic, in the same way that certain colors carry specific connotations. The velvet fuchsia seen here encompasses both, which is fitting as this particular robe straddles memories old and new. A relatively recent acquisition, it reminds me of an old favorite, but it comes with the changed space in which my friends and I find ourselves at this 44-year-old crux in our lives. So many things have changed in the last few years, but a constant has been my love for robes. I may not purchase many anymore, but every once in a while I’ll find one that strikes my fancy just enough to get me to splurge, and retail therapy is sometimes the best kind of therapy to be found.

This was a steal at Nordstrom Rack, which Kira and I stumbled upon while browsing there a year or two ago. I was on the fence about buying it – there is no real need for another robe at this, or any future, time in my life. Still, something called out to me and nudged me in its direction. Maybe it was the detailed in the sleeves and the ruched texture and tiny tassels that lent it distinction, setting it apart from all the other robes I’ve owned. Maybe it was the ornate fabric of the lining – a subtly iridescent blue that contrasted gorgeously with the fuchsia hue of velvet. Maybe it was just a day that felt gray and dowdy, and the only way out was to put this robe on and pretend I was someone and somewhere else. Whatever the cosmic reason or purpose for the purchase, the robe hung in my closet for a long time without being touched or used. This fall I brought it out and back to Boston for a couple of weekends, where I waited for Kira and JoAnn while lounging in its sumptuous excess.

Beauty is still a comfort. Beauty is still a balm. Beauty is still a method of dealing with all the madness that has become of the world. Pulling the velvet close to me, with nothing to separate us save for a pair of underwear, I sink into its luxurious shell. It’s the closest I can get to decadence these days, and it will have to do.

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