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 shift.....at 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.