Look, I get the whole "festive cheer" thing, but a red velvet football shirt? RB Leipzig, you got some explaining to do. PUMA slaps a 'Jingle Jersey' on it, makes 2,009—get it, because 2009?—and we're supposed to fall head over heels? It's all a bit, well, is "manufactured whimsy" too harsh? I don't know.
Like, don't get me wrong, velvet's got texture. You stroke it, you feel something—maybe luxury, maybe your grandma's couch, you know? They ship it in this fancy metal box too. "Turn it into a cookie jar," they say. Sure. 'Cause nothing says elite German football like shoving Oreos in a glorified jersey tin. Cute cookie cutter though, I'll give them that—branded, naturally.
Then, the plot twist—of course, there's a plot twist! Players trot out in these performance versions in a match, apparently looking festive (they lost though, by the way – merry losing Christmas). All red and gold like a king’s ransom, sans the velvety goodness. Seems fans are clamoring for the soft stuff they can’t wear on the pitch—you know, the “display your consumerism while watching the team display athleticism” paradox. Already sold out.
Now, don’t get me started on what 'exclusive' means in this context—less than 3,000 pieces and priced who knows how high? Because, when did "exclusive" stop meaning rare and start meaning cynical marketing?
This jersey’s not about tradition. Or pushing sartorial boundaries (or any boundaries if I’m being real). And for this ‘revolutionary’ moment, a historical claim to the “first velvet shirt”? I mean, do we believe them, even when they themselves say they ain’t sure? Like, google the claim. Just ask, did a footballer somewhere not say in his grandmother’s dusty accent, “Eh, I remember wearing a velvet shirt for football”?
Did anyone think of the old man, you know, did the marketing crew or PUMA or anyone in PR pause? I bet if you check old newspapers or old photos, there’s an image in black and white—maybe—but there’s a footballer somewhere wrapped in velveteen on the pitch. Maybe.
Anyway, if I were writing, like really writing, a story, and a velvet football shirt dropped in? That shirt would MEAN something. You’d sweat a bit. It wouldn't be mere plush novelty. But that's the game within the game. They throw festive jerseys at us, and we... we do the mental gymnastics about whether it's brilliant or banal.
Now, I need a tea and to re-evaluate my wardrobe because did I accidentally stumble into selling my audience plushy comfort when they crave a challenge?
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