Saturday, 14 June 2014

summer in The city

Ignorant n00bs may think summer vacation is for kids. But Chicagoans know better. Summer is a time to pack away their triple-insulated wool-lined boots, slip on their jellies and conveniently forget any figment of responsibility that may be asked of you for the next 3 months. The Chi-berias, the timelines of moving to Florida and never coming back, the brief stints in the ER for bruising bums on the 6 inches of pure ice on one's way to the dumpster-- are all erased from the memories of all. Chicago is officially the best city in the world and there is no need to be anywhere else. And that isn't up for discussion.

Somehow, while developing this mild form of memory loss and sweating away the bad decisions made the night before, Chicagoans manage to look fly.

I almost dropped my coconut Italian ice (shout-out to the delicious Miko's!) when I saw this dreamboat strutting up to me. It's a difficult feat to bust out a Miami sunset tank top and make it work but this guy accepted the challenge and I do believe he succeeded. Mad props.

These babes were spotted through the crowd...even with my 312 goggles on.... at Do Division Street Fest in Wicker Park. Some suburban mother of 5 is missing her "going-out" cover-up, but I much prefer it on him.

Keep sweatin' and stylin' Chicago! You're killin it so far.

Tuesday, 22 April 2014

Andre and the Rest of Us

My beautiful friends in beautiful California gifted me these beautiful snaps for my beautiful blog.

(that last 'beautiful' was a joke, I promise.)

This here is Winston looking too fine in a The Squad shirt and, like a true fashionisto, a completely impractical scarf that the general public doesn't even question because it looks so good:
(Photo cred- Sam)

Below is Andre 3000 and his bangin girl taking a Coachella break to hang out at the Silverlake Farmer's Market.

(Photo cred- Kels)

The Andre part is false... But real talk, if I didn't tell you, you would have never known:

And just so I feel cool for being in the same state as all my cool friends, here is a look I found a midst the hotdogs and snotty children of Santa Monica Pier.

This is exactly what I wore every day of third grade but somehow, she looks awesome, and I looked...extremely not awesome. 

Monday, 31 March 2014

Never the Worst One

The sole honest, comforting thought that I always seem to leave New Orleans with  is the fact I was not the most embarrassing person wandering the streets of the city that weekend.

While I did manage to deter paying customers from a restaurant after being shown to a table next to mine.... at 1pm.... and befriend some lovely girls enough to hang around at their place of work while they began their 1am... I can promise you that there was someone. somewhere. that was more of a spectacle than I was.

As much as I would have liked to document these animalistic examples, as proof that there are humans that are sub- to my sub-human, that would be of no benefit to anyone but myself so I held back.

Believe it or not, there was plenty to distract me from the lions and tigers and bears by looking just past Bourbon Street and it's rose-colored Hurricanes. Take this super-mom and her two-toned bun for example. Not only are her pants as spacey as most of Canal St. on the reg, but the fashionistas next to her could give the entire Jolie-Pitt-Holmes-Cruise-Knowles-Carter-etc-etc. clans a run for their money

Clearly I was going for loud statements that weekend as they were much easier to recognize in the mindset I was in than subtle beauty, which brings us to our next group of subjects. While all the hair was mesmerizing the first time I found it at the French Market that day; it was was even more so when I saw the same hair destroying the trumpet at a club the French Quarter later that night. 

As I have come to find out, average Joe's and basic bitches will not fare well in Nola. Let your weirdness shine without no inhibitions and remember, there is always someone weirder. 

Tuesday, 18 March 2014

Distant Lines

Being one of the largest cities in the world, there seems to be a very common lack of regard for social norms, in all senses of the term-- stealing cabs from innocent hailers, beginning to dine after most plebeians have called it a night, claiming the corner of 33rd and 7th a perfectly acceptable urinal.

This ignorance of these norms (conscious or not), in a positive sense, comes with fashion. The city hosts one of the most renown fashion weeks on the globe, has fashion models posted up everywhere from coffee shops in Willamsburg to billboards in Time Square, a store front for every apparel line imaginable and still, I can find more people that turn a blind eye to these petty influences than I've found in any other city. 

To illustrate my point, the following looks were captured within a less-than-24-hour time span. My findings: 

This princess escaping from her palace to gallivant around Midtown:

These lace socks belonging to a female above the age of 5, hanging out on the E train with a pair of velcro- black- high tops:

A man dressed in a trench coat and matching silky pajamas who had no care about standing next to large, uninviting van on the streets of Greenpoint:

To those who may believe these looks are "crossing the line", my response is:

Your line is too close. Move it farther. You'll have more fun.

Monday, 10 February 2014

It's not Creepin if they like it....

I'm not usually one to creep  but i know how much of a feat it is to fall asleep in an airport. Who was I to push someone off that mountaintop to ask permission for a photo?

Keeping that in mind, I still could not just let this man go un-captured. So I did the old 'maybe the reception is better closer to my face' mixed with some 'the glare from the lights just isn't letting me see this picture I'm tagged in' and managed to snag this shot:

Let it be known that I have a obsession with men that wear floral. The rebelliousness of this action is parallel to licking an ice cream cone in the winter- both completely legal, just demanding a second glance from all passerby's.

Yet, those sleeves mixed with the undoubtedly freshly-shined loafers and the fur-lined sweater carelessly draped across him made me wonder whether I was not creeping at all but merely falling into the trap of an intentionally posed man who wanted someone to recognize his get up.

Either way, a win-win situation.

Saturday, 8 February 2014

A Weirdo's Oasis

For me, meeting someone who claims to be interesting usually kicks off with some witty remark in reference to under-rated European city or a new-enough band that has not reached existence-on-Spotify-status.

Once the comfort level has risen, the inevitable question of "Where did you grow up" gets thrown in and after I proudly answer with, "Urbana-Champaign in central Illinois" I can see their fingers clench and feet take a half-an-inch step away. I know what they are thinking- 'Central Illinois? So she lived on a farm and galloped to her one-room school house on a horse and helped her grand mammy churn butter on the weekends?'

Please believe that I take their fidgeting as my queue to begin my spiel of "Urbana is an oasis in this land of cornfields and cow manure and the 40,000 kids that go their for school every year that will agree with me". Obviously, not a word is absorbed by the other party.

In my endless effort to convince the masses that Urbana is the dopest, I get tickled when lovely ladies such  as this one cross my path to help me prove my point.

Please take a second to observe:

Thursday, 26 December 2013

The Lost Boys

Ever since I came of age to travel and have friends that traveled, the common denominator of all post-travel bragging sessions with those that returned from San Francisco was the following statement:

"You. You would love it there."

I"m not one to absorb hype to this magnitude and still be impressed, but impressed I was. This place has all the eccentricity of NYC (my favorite part), plus technicolor houses, quiet beaches, and an insane past few decades. I could complain about none of these things. 

While I traipsed around the city, spotting Looks in all shapes and sizes, the boys are who really caught my attention. Maybe it was the West Coast breeze, but their confidence in whatever they clothed themselves in was extremely apparent to my naked, sometimes even unfocused, eye.  

Found this gentleman managing to make the clothes that were falling off of him fit perfectly (an art all thrifters strive to master). (Shout out to my photo-bombing friends creepin in back:)

While I could not get enough of this possy of eco-friendly, possibly non-violent, new-age Hell's Angels, they refused to believe that this blog was praising clothing choices and not condemning them to the fashion underworld.

I almost missed this winner in my haze of finding unexpected gems at the Goodwill of Haight-Ashbury, but escape he did not. I still regret not copping an non-consensual feel of the fabric of this god of a coat. 

Down the street from the Dead's old haunts, this character was silently claiming his corner, not waiting for anyone or anything, just existing. As intimidating as his seemed on his corner, neck tattoos and all, I tore myself away for snapping endless pictures of 710 Ashbury to request his cooperation. I took his grunt as consent to take his picture....not that he helped out by moving in any way...

Long story, short, although it may be too late for that.....I shall return to this mystical land. Ladies, I'll make sure blast your styles next time.