(the biography) does reveal some genuinely odd things about Barack Obama. The impression one gets is of an arrogant loner who struggled to fit in with the world around him. This is explained away by his lack of a clear racial or class identity, for which the reader has every sympathy. But it’s hard to empathise with a man with this level of self-absorption. One girlfriend, Genevieve, wrote in her diary that it was impossible to break through his shell of introspection: “The sexual warmth is definitely there — but the rest of it has sharp edges and I’m finding it all unsettling and finding myself wanting to withdraw from it all. I have to admit that I am feeling anger at him for some reason, multi-stranded reasons. His warmth can be deceptive. Tho he speaks sweet words and can be open and trusting, there is also that coolness — and I begin to have an inkling of some things about him that could get to me.” Hanging around his apartment discussing TS Eliot and wearing a sarong (I'm not judging him for the latter; I own a kimono), it felt like Obama was always “so old already,” even when he was just 22.
Toga? Clam diggers (no pun intended)? Board shorts? Black leather pants even (long, not short and not chapps)? Sure - all that is fine, but sarong? Dude.