I abhor queuing, but I did at Palace

I AM older now, but even when I wasn't, I abhorred a queue. Time is finite, and meaningful. Queues are repudiations of that meaning. Certainly, there are things worth waiting for - a slice at Di Fara? a Lisa Vanderpump book signing? - but they are few and far between and, in truth, rarely as rewarding as you hope.

Worse, the mind roams. Every second you allow your body to be geo-limited by a random desire, your mind is dominated by thoughts of all the productive things you are failing to do. A queue is a collective sign of failure. I won't wait more than a few minutes for a seat at a restaurant. I've given up going to clubs or concerts where I'm not on some sort of list. Naturally, I have never waited in a Supreme queue.

Sometimes, on the days when Supreme releases a new product - a drop, in scene parlance - I'll pass by the gaggle of gawky teenagers held behind barriers on Lafayette Street and wonder about all of the potential energy vaporising into thin air. The loose vibrations and persistent quest for meaning of those young men (and some young women, but far fewer) are endlessly renewable natural resources. Channel it and we could probably end global dependence on fossil fuels in about three weeks.