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. 

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