Thursday, 27 November 2014

People, Places, and Things

There is humor in the contrast on the streets of New York City between humans and non-humans.

The garbage, the rats, the pigeons, the discarded lycee peels on Broadway--- they could care less about how their internal beings are expressed on the exterior. They will reek and scamper and shit and make me slip and ruin my last pair of stockings to their hearts' content.

The humans of Manhattan, on the other hand (at least those that shower fairly regularly and pay rent on occasion), seem to be on constant alert of how the world, humans and non-humans alike, are viewing them.

This work of art for example, could easily have found a sensible pea coat at The Gap and grabbed the first pair of equestrian boots she ran across in Midtown, mimicking the care-free nature of the stray cats wandering the sidewalks of Bushwick, but no. She instead chose to defy normalcy and channel Missy Elliott's garbage bag days to illustrate her soul to the masses.

The discarded metro card that's stuck to your shiny loafer might not give a damn, but I see you girl. And you're lookin Supa Dupa Fly.


Monday, 13 October 2014

Fall-ing All Over Again

My hyper-indecisive mind doesn't typically allow me to pick favorites in any genre but I have no inhibitions professing my undying loyalty to Fall, or Autumn, for the Upper-East siders. I'm sure my infatuation is directly connected to the temporary nature (pun intended) of the season. Just like Ponyboy and his sunsets, I learned at a young age that the beauty of this season fades too quickly, which only fuels my desire for it.

It's not only is it the crisp mornings, bright leaves and society's acceptance of my eating pumpkin for every meal that draws me to this fleeting season. No, above all else, are the clothes. A girl can only wear denim cut-offs and stare at men in tank tops for so long before she looses hope in the future of our existence.

Just as I was getting weak and faith was fading fast, looks like these began popping up all over New York City and I knew it was coming.

The looks popped on Madison Ave while I was pretending to belong in my surroundings:

They popped up at Union Square Farmer's Market when I was pretending as though I was going to buy produce when in actuality, headed straight for the pumpkin muffins:

They even popped up at the laundry mat down the street where I pretended like I would do a load before getting intimidated by all the coin slots and hollered at FlyCleaners:

As I waste time poking fun at my menial existence, you must go and grasp the day. Put on your biggest woolen sweater/ the pair of tights that have the smallest visible run and take charge of this dream of a season. While the leaves may fall, ripping our hearts out in the process, we must remember that "nothing gold can stay". Fall is here in its glory right now, and it will be back again. 

Friday, 12 September 2014

The Babes of Brooklyn: An Education

My zip code has now changed. and along with it, all sense of what is right and good in the world.

Brooklyn, New York. 

Where any figment of average-ness in your attire will guarantee visual daggers by any passerby. 

Until now, I considered my style a line-crosser. A button-pusher. Weirdo Chic at its finest. But then I got here and, excusez mon francais, mais these bitches got me trippin. Every slightly basic article of clothing now sends out sirens from my closet. I even feel self-conscious wearing yoga pants.... while doing yoga. 

Do you blame me when these are the two I see on my way to class?

I will admit that they were embraced in an emotional goodbye when I shoulder-tapped for a picture, but how could I pass up that Yolandi-esque haircut and the classiest bro-tank I've ever seen? 

Just as I wasn't aware that the nines were necessary for an outing to a morning workout, I also didn't realize that comfort is not an option when going to an all-day music fest on the hottest day of the year. I thought I was being fun and practical for wearing a thrifted, loose-fitting cotton dress to Fool's Gold's annual Day Off street fest. I didn't want anything restricting me from jumping for joy when Danny Brown's green Coolio-braids took the stage. Little did I know.. I would be surrounded by this:

As we are now all aware, I have much to learn from this burrow that just keeps strutting. Excuse me while I catch up. 

Tuesday, 26 August 2014

My Ode to the D

These days, my day job is bringing me to Detroit, or as the locals fondly call it- "The D" (I know, I know. But I honestly don't think they know..)

After spending some time in the city, I have developed a strong sense of pity for all those that do not have the desire to check this unworldly place out during its age of unworldly-ness. The dark clouds of the crumbling automotive industry are moving on and a rare sense of hope is starting shine on this in a fallen city. 

With these crumbled walls and new found hope come the artists, beer brewers, clothing designers and musicians, licking up the dirt-cheap real-estate like cats to a flame. wait. moths to milk? Whatever, the message is there. 

Of course while they are providing the city with pop-up hand-made clothing stores, $3 craft brews, crazy street art, and epic DJ sets in abandoned warehouses, these kids are also managing the express their style not only through their work, but on their bodies. Multi-tasking at its finest. 

Take this one for example. I met Brendan Asante outside a Chance the Rapper show at the Filamore. If his three-toned shoes didn't grasp my attention, he casual mention of being an very talented (my words, not his) jazz musician, definitely did. After forgiving me for bouncing off the walls in anticipation for the show, he also agreed to get snapped so the masses (my mom) could be exposed to the 'Fit. 

While Asante's style managed to stay at the top of my list, there are others like him, residing in the D to perfect their art and expose it to the world. The city is in a rare and temporary state of underground beauty right now, so I highly recommend getting yourself a taste of what the D has to offer while it lasts. Sorry, had to get one more in there. 

If you want to check out some of the homie, Asante's, sweet melodies, holler below:

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 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 case 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 "Dinner Party" 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- Samantha Krabbe)

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

(Photo cred- Kelsey McGraw)

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: