It seems trivial when one uses the word "fetish" to describe what is, for me, my actual identity and simple way of being.
In broader terms, fetish—specifically mine - involves black leather, skin-tight denim, cowboy boots and the hypersexualising and mythologizing of icons of masculinity, like the American cowboy and the biker. It is a way of life.
I don't have the capability to turn it on and off like a light switch, nor would I want to. What may seem "fetishist" or even exaggerated to others; when I'm geared up at a leather bar in the middle of the night, this is essentially what you get from me in the middle of the day. It's not a costume, it's just who I am.
The smell and feeling of a second skin, like leather or denim on my body, is as inexplicable as the sight of a man walking with a swagger in a pair of cowboy boots. Hearing the thud of his heels on the wooden floor or the jingle -jangle of his spurs. It's mysterious yet primal. It's curated yet organic. It's a visual fuck as well as a mind fuck. It's a way of manifesting your urge to dominate or your yearning to submit. Your uniform, no matter what it may be, is a signal to the world that you belong to a tribe or that you are in search of one.
Check out the digital copy of Recon Issue_01 using the link below for other fetish articles, interviews, photography and artwork