Wednesday, 27 November 2013

Fashion moths to the Music flame

I was the luckiest girl on my birthday this year because I was given the absolute pleasure of heading to Brooklyn and hanging out with the gods of hip hop: A Tribe Called Quest.

.....and by 'hanging out', I mean sitting in the nose-bleeds at the Barclays Center for the Yeezus tour. While I didn't hate watching Ye come out in a bedazzled bank robber mask and speak to God on a mountain top, the boys from Queens were definitely my main event.

As history has shown us, the young dress to match their music. With great music comes great fashion. Thus, the transitive property allowed me to conclude that I could expect amazing getups at an ATCQ show. Once again, math was right.

Every person in my visual range was dressed to their version of the Nine's. If I were to ask a crackhead about their feelings while on their drug of choice, I guarantee their description would match my emotions at that moment.

I stopped this babe from making the white walk man because I couldn't get enough of her suede pumps and infinite hair. She had made moves from Philly to catch my boys in the flesh. Crossing borders in those kicks- that's devotion.


Next up is the homie with the perfectly fitted blazer and the jewelry that worked in his favor. There's nothing more refreshing than a man knowing what size he wears. The whole swimming-in-your-pants thing ended with the Love Movement's release. Catch up y'all.


While the Looks kept coming by the hundreds, my focus, alas, shifted from the clothes to the funky diabetic, Bonita, and her bum. Do you blame me?

Friday, 22 November 2013

Jungle Talk

Lets talk animal print.

I have a love-hate relationship with this topic.

Hate: This comes with the women and men that obviously should not be trying to look "fierce" (as They say animal print helps with) at inappropriate places and times. My disapproval doesn't stem from their age. Age is just a number.

...as is the number of children you are responsible, the number of people that report to you in a professional setting, and the number of police cars stooped up on the block you're walking down.

Your ferociousness will not help you when it comes in a skin-tight form and these numbers are high.

Love: this chick:


Strolling down the most aestheticly pleasing street in Chicago(Wabash), her two-toned shoes and p(hopefully)leather pants were the perfect match for mountain of wilderness she wrapped around her. There isn't a more appropriate time or place to pile on the fierceness than a windy, Saturday afternoon in the Midwest with not too much to do.

Monday, 11 November 2013

Bolos and Crocs

I finally made it down to the city that has been swimming through my dreams for far too long. A city that musicians flock to; a land of gourmet (aka heart attack-nurturing) donuts and the [insert any word here] tacos; a stomping ground for Weirdos, old and new: Austin, Texas.

It was clear from my first sight of the city as to why its (un)official slogan is "Keep Austin Weird". The deep-rooted weirdness existing in the city's early days may have faded throughout the decades but shines bright in comparison to what I'm used to. Needless to say, I felt right at home.

As did this little lady here. Claiming her husband labeled her as a "lunatic" for wanting to leave the house in her outfit, she was shocked that I wanted a shot at her stall on South Congress.
Unlike her beau, I couldn't get enough of the Western print of her sweater paired with the floral onesie that's peeking through. Not to mention, she's a master bolo maker. Check these babies out at www.UrbanBolo.com:

Just  as I thought I'd had my fill of lunacy (with all the bolos and whatnot), this gem of a person came into sight. I had do a quadruple-take to notice a fifteenth of what she had going for her with this outfit. I'll let you make your own list. 
In case you were a bit uncertain, let me clarify a couple points:
1. Yes, that is a lanyard.
2. Yes, she is, in fact, rocking it. 

To wrap up this uninhibited gush-fest for the Austinite culture, peep this disgustingly beautiful treasure I had to make my own:
Displayed above is the index finger of none other than yours truly. Being consumed by a vicious crocodile. 

Tuesday, 5 November 2013

The Bittersweet Sunshine State

Los Angeles may never be my favorite city (downing a double at the bar and stepping on the gas in your six-inch stilettos is probably safer than putting sober,  loafered me behind the wheel), but it does have its perks:
The constant sunshine, the diet one is forced into purely by judging stares alone, and, most importantly, the flexibility that wardrobes are given at all times of the year.

While all other fashion capitol-dwellers are busy rotating their closets at this time of year, the closets of Los Angeles stand unaltered. The beauty of this city lies in the fact that your XXL woolen sweater and combat boots are perfectly acceptable in July, just as your cotton, floral sundress is in January.

As November peeked into my life, I was excited to leave the seasonal states for a toasty weekend in LA. My friends had recently shifted locations from the West to East which was a nice change of pace. While the West-siders find a trip to the beach to be the solution to all of life's obstacles, East-siders share my opinion in that the beach is cool and all, but so is a double espresso paired with an incredibly unorganized thrift shop.

This babe knew what was up. After chasing her down at the Silverlake Farmer's Market, she had to set down the 80-year-old stand owner's hand-me-down cardigan she was interested in to indulge me with a shot.

While she rocked the Budwiser logo, we all know her broke beer of choice is PBR.

All these praises of the East side are not to imply that those who habite dans la plage are the scum of the earth. I love getting in-tune with my inner free spirit while dipping my toes in. Not to mention, the style by the water, while laid back, is also beautifully put together.

Take this lad I came across during lunch in Santa Monica, for example. He and his friend on the bench seemed to know every person that walked past them, personally; either that, or they spoke to every person that walked past them like they knew them, personally.


I'm just assuming he threw on perfectly fitted coral shirt after yanking it out from under his mattress. I'm also assuming that the professionally-faded-seeming Buddha purse was a result from a trade years ago with a gypsy on Venice for some rolling papers and coconut water, which were the only items he had on him at the moment.

Obviously, I'm just jealous these Cali kids can rock man purses and beer shirts while all the rest of us to work with are our oversized scarves and wool socks.