Imagine yourself a wealthy individual. 

Sit and think about that for a second. Really think about it. Put yourself in a pair of those fictive Wealthy Shoes. You're at a point in your life where you are a very, very, very rich person. You've somehow accrued massive earnings. The how of it doesn't matter. You just have, and now you have this filthy, loathsome amount of money sitting in a bank somewhere in central Switzerland. A sickening, outrageous amount. It's absurd. And fantastic. You are the 1%.

All right. Are you there yet? Fully self-actualized? Fine, good. Okay.

You're at a point in your imaginary life where, with this stupid amount of money you've earned, everything is paid off. The Essentials. You've paid back all loans or debt you might have amassed over the years. You have a house. A mansion. Something large. You have a fancy car or five. Kids? Sure. They have everything they'd need or want. Things they couldn't even fathom, they'd most likely have those things. Same goes for the rest of your extended family. They'd all have showy cars and big-ass fricken houses with mortgages paid in full. Everything and more, all taken care of. 

You've even purchased the things you don't necessarily need. Lots of those things. You have a sweet HD TV with the DVR and the BluToobs and all the technology. And you have all the iPads and first-print books and overpriced Ikea furniture and, like, two Shamwows and a jacuzzi you never use. You have all of that. The goods. You have the goods.

Now, are you there yet? Yes? OK, great. Fantastic. You get it now. You're filthy, grimy rich. Now what? 

You've finally made it to the point in your life where you are totally allowed to get immerse yourself in weird shit. 

What do you mean "What do I mean?" I mean you have so much goddamned money that you're absolutely, positively allowed to immerse yourself in eccentric behavior. Any kind. A great example of this happening is when Jimmy Page got super into black magic and bought Aleister Crowley's castle. 

See how it works? Jimmy Page was wealthy to a point where eccentric behavior was utterly justifiable; having loads of money makes it OK for you to act on your abnormal idiosyncrasies. It's a fact. A fact I just made up. But a fact nonetheless. Fact. 

Here's what I'd do. If I was filthy-dirty rich I'd build a room somewhere in my big-ass mansionhome and fill it with oversized clothing. Giant cowboy hats and sombreros, giant suits like the one David Byrne wore in Stop Making Sense. Those fantastic sumo suits. Giant sneakers. All of it. It'd be fucking breathtaking. I'd also have a small section of the room dedicated to miniature clothing, too. You know, feng shui. Balance or something. Right? There would be a small table with an assortment of small hats (like this or this or this), maybe some very small shoes. Exactly so. Yes.

So, have you thought about it? What do you think? Which eccentric hobbies would you get into if you were obscenely rich? Please share your thoughts with me. Feel free to get really, really weird with it. Dig deep into your subconscious. If you could practice a sort of borderline compulsion of a hobby that sounds ridiculous in this reality, which would you practice? Think about it. Really think. Dig.

There must be something.