There is something unresolved about the suburbs — a softness edged with restlessness. They exist outside urgency, outside spectacle. Places where nothing seems to happen, yet everything is quietly forming. In this suspended geography, anonymity becomes a kind of shelter, and distance turns into a language of its own.

Minor Chronicles unfolds within this in-between space, where physical margins mirror emotional ones. The outskirts are not a backdrop but a condition of being: wide margins where isolation sharpens perception and solitude becomes formative. Streets feel longer, silences heavier. The body moves slowly, aware of itself, negotiating between withdrawal and desire.

Echoing the emotional restraint of Gus Van Sant’s imagery, the narrative avoids resolution. Identity is never declared, only suggested — through posture, stillness, and the tension between staying and leaving. The suburbs become a rehearsal room for the self, a place where rebellion is almost invisible and freedom feels quietly earned.

The styling follows the same logic: restrained, tactile, and deeply personal. Archival and contemporary pieces merge without emphasis, worn as extensions of mood rather than statements. An archival Maison Margiela Artisanal 2001 leather glove top appears like a second skin — protective, intimate, unresolved. Around it, garments from Céline, Bottega Veneta, Ferragamo, Valentino, and Antonio Marras move with a sense of lived elegance, never demanding attention.

Denim from Levi’s and HG LF grounds the body in reality, while Marsell footwear keeps it close to the ground. Subtle glints of Swarovski catch light briefly, then disappear. Christian Boaro and Bonfilio contribute texture and memory, clothes that feel carried rather than worn. Nothing feels new, nothing feels nostalgic — everything exists in a state of quiet continuity.

In Minor Chronicles, connection is tentative and distant, sought through pauses rather than gestures. To exist slightly outside the center becomes a choice, not a failure. The project lingers in that fragile moment before definition — where being peripheral allows identity to breathe, unobserved.