@justgennady - IGDataHub

Gennady

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@justgennady

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Senior Editor @manifestomedia Watches, Jewellery, Fashion, Verbosity

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manifesto.asia/author/gennadyoreshkin/?fbclid=PAQ0xDSwPvxWZleHRuA2FlbQIxMQBzcnRjBmFwcF9pZA8xMjQwMjQ1NzQyODc0MTQAAaf1K7TN_QAGj-Bp9yWCyIZ-0SsBllmNfg1yiRbKgJifUt52YrBL364T5keWEg_aem_6ZbSBQogBcJHx9jMxsN6Ug

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#hermes #hermeshomme #hermeswinter25

Recent posts

I was promised by the astrologers in the sexy part of the Greater Bay Area to be entering my “prime era”. What gives? I was promised by tarot cards to be trampled into prosperity by the wheel of fortune. WHAT GIVES? Forgive my bluntness but an unfortunate encounter with a flying rat on Bowen Road and a murderous tree in the Hanoi suburbs does prompt a guy to ask The Universe whether contentedness and sophistication are earned through a series of humbling experiences. Apparently the Universe prefers its lessons delivered by airborne vermin and homicidal flora. At least I’ll always have Shanghai. Where botany and wildlife are courteous (though the flower merchants are surprisingly agile even at 2 o’clock in the evening!) There the chrysanthemums bow rather than strike, and the only things that fly are the occasional rumours. One can almost believe the wheel of fortune has been temporarily oiled. Almost. 25 Oct 2026

When I decided to throw a gothic literature themed birthday party, the Presence in my bedroom immediately said, “if you style your every birthday as a funeral, your actual wake might feel very lonely.” I told it that loneliness is merely the soul’s rehearsal for the final quiet, and that a proper wake requires at least one person who knows which of your books to steal before the relatives arrive. The Presence sighed and reminded me that the dead prefer to accumulate rather than RSVP. So, naturally, I invited only those who understood that birthday cake is just another form of burial food. We toasted with wine to the idea that every year lived is a year stolen from the dark, and that the dark, being patient and somewhat literary, does not mind waiting. The Presence hovered near the ceiling, humming a tune that might once have been a lullaby and might now be a dirge, and I thought: how kind of mortality to keep such excellent company, and how rude of the living to keep insisting we pretend otherwise. 📸: @chiyung_tam 04 Aug 2026

As I fall to my knees and plead my anxiety to stop its torment, it winks. And as I vomit out my dignity, I ask myself, “is that what my peasant ancestors wanted for me?” They couldn’t read of course (sad) and didn’t know the epic highs and lows of high school football (their fault) and never had to hear what a Deloitte consultant has to say (jealous) and yet here I am, their glittering, over-educated descendant, crouched on the bathroom floor like a discarded marionette. The betrayal of it all! My great-great-grandmother, bless her illiterate soul, probably spent her days knee-deep in turnips and existential weather, dreaming not of serotonin but of whether the next harvest would keep the bailiff from burning the thatch. She never once had to Google “is the Tinder man going to kill me?” at 3 a.m., while the AI overview gloated “he’s not, but here are 10 reasons why he SHOULD”. No, she simply got on with it, muttering in some guttural dialect, while I — I! — have a master’s degree in overthinking and still can’t decide if the correct response to mild inconvenience is tears, rage, or shopping for a burial plot. “Ancestors! Was this the grand plan? That one day your bloodline would produce a creature so exquisitely sensitive it has panic attacks over what? Champagne served in a beveled glass?” Anxiety does a delighted twirl on my amygdala, “But darling, think of the enrichment. They died knowing only famine and feudalism. You get to die knowing the exact shade of beige corporate optimism wears on a Tuesday.” I laugh then. Because what else is there to do when your genetic inheritance has devolved from sturdy peasant stock into a trembling soufflé of Instagram-sponsored insecurities? My ancestors wanted survival. I got Stanley cups that scream in my voice at night. Perhaps this is the glorious, vomitous evolution from “will the crops fail?” to “will my crops of dopamine ever fruit again?” I wipe the last of the dignity from my chin, “Fine. You win this round. But tomorrow I’m eating bread like my ancestors and pretending it fixes everything. No consultants. No football metaphors. Just starch and spite.” God help us all. Especially the consultants. 03 May 2026

I don’t claim to be an expert on anything Swiss other than the eternal struggle of attempting to make watches palatable for the unenlightened. Last week, I visited the Piaget manufacture, that gleaming cathedral of tiny metal bones ticking away the seconds like remorseful confessions, and there I stood, a man shaped like a question mark that had given up on answers, staring at a craftsman who was painstakingly applying Palace Décor finish on a gold bracelet of a watch as though it were the last honest soul in the universe. I asked, quite earnestly, whether the watches ever felt lonely inside their glass cases, spinning their little lives in perfect circles while the rest of us stagger about in messy spirals of burnt toast and existential debt. The craftsman blinked once, slowly, the way a mountain might if it could be offended, and replied that the mechanisms were ‘designed for eternity, monsieur, not for feelings.’ Ah, eternity. How Swiss of it. I nodded sagely, as though I too had been engineered in a clean room and never once woken at 3 a.m. wondering why my heart keeps beating when it clearly has better things to do. In truth I was thinking of my own…finger bearing a nameless watch ring so dear to my heart not because of its imposing design but because of the two beautiful women who had given it to me as a gift, its hands forever stuck between ‘late’ and ‘too late.’ I imagined my ring and the Piaget watch having a conversation across the void: one whispering in refined Geneva French about gravitational constants and perpetual calendars, the other answering with that eerie Muscovite inflection, “a well-decorated middle finger always beats being on time.” I left the manufacture with empty pockets and a full chest, humming a little tune that had no rhythm, because some of us were never meant to keep time. We were only ever meant to waste it fashionably. 23 Apr 2026

Me? Sliving? No. But despite this disappointedly decomposing (yet stubbornly unyielding) body, I contain multitudes. Must I, with the first sip of sake, slither into fresh skin and begin beefing with teenagers Orochimaru style? The tradition demands. Must I belt out torch love ballads about Monte Carlo and Brighton Beach while being pursued by Armenians? How can I not? Does a glamorous ghost need borrowed organs? More than you think. I wake up most mornings convinced my shadow has filed for divorce and taken the good china with it. They tell me to «touch grass.» I have. It filed a restraining order. Now I touch only the soft underbelly of borrowed time, or the cool marble of borrowed faces in the mirror. Yesterday I tried smiling at an attractive waiter and my mouth did something that’s illegal in three states. Today I’m practicing being a man who owns his own haunting. Seasoned. Fermented. A little too aware that the void stares back and sometimes asks for my number. Still here, a chandelier in a sinking ship, serving face, serving decay, serving «yes, I’m the main character in this nervous breakdown, and the plot is anything but linear.» 28 Mar 2026

Darlings, last year I was granted the sublime, almost indecent pleasure of interrogating some of the most prodigiously prolific visionaries in fashion, haute joaillerie, horlogerie, and the shadowy beyond — all under the incandescent banner of @manifestomedia And I shall continue to do so, for the universe has once again selected me — take THAT, chthonic apparitions! — to return to the glittering abattoir of genius, metaphorically vivisecting the minds of people who make clothes so exquisite they could tempt woodland sprites to trade their wings and watches so complicated they could probably defuse themselves. Expect more velvet confessions, more moments where someone says something profound and I just stare at them like they’ve confessed to being a sentient candelabrum. The saga continues; it grows legs and teeth and demands better lighting. Stay close. I’m about to re-enter the chat and ruin everyone’s sensible cardigans. 21 Jan 2026

Starting the new year with all the teeth and limbs still intact (against all odds and despite the nasty rumours). This year I’m only wishing for the wails in my basement to CEASE and for my neighbours to stop leaving loose chicken hearts on my doorstep (I KNOW it’s a nourishing snack but …come on, guys, I’m trying keto this year and chicken hearts are basically meat balloons filled with betrayal). Also hoping that my 17 adopted children (who definitely aren’t tiny cops, I CHECKED) will stop asking me what a Tate McRae is. I DO NOT KNOW! And if we’re really shooting for the stars, maybe the mold colony in my fridge will stop unionizing and demanding better working conditions (I gave you light, I gave you occasional cheese scraps, what more do you want, a 401(k)?). Anyway, happy 2026 to everyone except the mold and the chicken hearts person. 01 Jan 2026

Claws out at @virtuose.hk Wearing a fabulous @ksszesons choker and @shamseili necklace (styled as a bracelet) 23 Nov 2025

No, I’m not being risqué! Just grotesque 01 Nov 2025

Ready…Set…Casaque!…I said CASAQUE, Kronk! What a wild night, thank you @hermes. Wearing a stunning brooch with ametrine, diamonds and green garnets by @ksszesons @camgramz #hermes #hermeshomme #hermeswinter25 19 Sep 2025

@nastymeteva you said “I do,” and I said “Would you like to invest in my Ponzi scheme?” to your parents. Congratulations on this fairy tale of a wedding that I’m totally NOT jealous of @nastymeteva & @virajbindra ! May you two haunt each other’s dreams in the best way possible for eternity xx 📸: @zarefkhan_ 17 Sep 2025

WAIT! If you’re snatching gags and I’m clocking wigs, then who’s making a TRIUMPHANT debut at the @getredressed runway with ZERO backstage meltdowns??? Gorgeous outfit by @the.chaos.studio Gorgeous makeup by @carrietong.makeup 10 Sep 2025

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shortcode	caption	likes	comments
De8coKOFLZH	I was promised by the astrologers in the sexy pa…
DbpNKsDFLo8	When I decided to throw a gothic literature them…
DX6DYExFOFW	As I fall to my knees and plead my anxiety to st…

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shortcode	caption	likes	comments
De8coKOFLZH	I was promised by the astrologers in the sexy pa…
DbpNKsDFLo8	When I decided to throw a gothic literature them…
DX6DYExFOFW	As I fall to my knees and plead my anxiety to st…

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Everyone who follows them

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username	full_name	user_id	is_verified	is_private	profile_pic_url

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Every account this one follows, same fields.

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username	full_name	user_id	is_verified	is_private	profile_pic_url

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