Tag Archives: fashion

A Choice That Probably Includes Ordering The Last Two Yogurt Parfaits

In matching outfits,
Same Starbucks, same time, one choice:
Female OK Corral

We Will Become T-Shirts

No more dates engraved in stone — now when our bodies grow weak and die, we become t-shirts instead, emblazoned with an image of our smiling faces captured in our youthful prime and frozen in a moment how our friends like to remember. Our souls are screenprinted in vinyl on a 50/50 cotton blend and passed out to our loved ones so they can wear our memories on the outside and then take them off when it’s convenient. Most run in XtraLarge so our family and friends wear our souls to bed to comfort them while they dream; the rest run small and find their use as undershirts or painting rags. Others still wind up in a four-sided wooden box, buried beneath the catacombs of clothing in the bottom dresser drawer. Some lucky few end up on plastic lunchboxes with matching thermoses for soup, plastic frisbees, or kitchenware, and find utilitarian purpose in the afterlife until they are conveniently misplaced or warped in the fiery depths of the dishwasher. Our fabric memory is not as weather-resistant as granite, but at least it’s portable — itinerant, like our own weary lives. But if death is a fashion, then immortality is merchandise, and these days everybody wants to live forever.

The New Black and Blue

Hardly practical as camouflage,
nor particularly fashionable; sure,
they might work together as part
of your general ensemble, but

purple and green make for
a rather garish combination
(although I suppose that in
a world where people wear

underwear over their pants
everything is fair game).
Neither are they colors that
strike fear in the hearts of

men (super, or otherwise).
But still, so many villains
(specifically super) defer to
these shades when planning

their outfits, as if this carefully
calculated appearance could
somehow distract their enemies,
and bring their evil plans to

fruition. Perhaps the emerald
hues reflect their desires, while
shades of violet emulate the
grandeur to which they aspire.

Or perchance it’s a pact among
these superpowered malefactors
to make their allegiances known,
so when setting off on vile schemes

the protagonist knows where to go.

A Suit for Every Season

I wish I had a suit for weddings,
another suit for funerals, but
celebrations start and end the same.

The uniform for every date that
becomes an anniversary, suspended
in an uncertain closet until

the next big day. A mostly monochromatic
costume, with shoulders fitting square
and stiff to help you stand up straight,

and slimming black pinstripes designed
by French-Italian coffee names.
Accessories may vary — try

the skinny tie this time, with matching
turquoise button-down to brighten
the attire and tell the world that

it’s newlyweds, instead of waking life.
But the mourning after either finds it
hanging up again, waiting for the day

when you might lose another friend.

To Be or Not To Be That Guy: Beer Edition

“Don’t be That Guy!” is a popular phrase that permeates most of the social groups within which the writer regularly interacts, where “That Guy” functions as a proper noun to identify a very specific type of Homo Sapien engaged in a loud and raucous social setting, typically a concert or musical event, wearing the shirt of the musical artist that he or she is seeing at that very same event. That Guy is generally viewed as a social leper by the bourgeois-hipster class, who feel that it is unnecessary for a person to wear the shirt, and thereby show support, of the band that he (or she) is going to see, as one’s presence at a concert should in and of itself be indicative of one’s devotion to said musical artist. As such, the social status of That Guy is seen as lowly, pathetic and desperate by other members of its social caste, as he or she is seen to be yearning hopelessly to impress both the members of the performing musical collective, as well as the rest of the audience.

This past weekend, however, the writer became privy to an even more bizarre sub-phenomenon within That Guy culture. En route to the American Craft Beer Festival in Boston, Massachusetts, a festive social gathering of barley, hops, and drunkards, a small but noticeable crowd of Ya Dudes (see Chapter 7, “Ya Dudes”) were seen bounding up the stairs, wearing t-shirts that in fact showed their support of the American Craft Beer Festival in Boston, Massachusetts over this past weekend. Again, it is typically assumed that one’s presence at such a festival denotes one’s support of said festival; however, these fuckers were exactly the kind of meat-heads that chase their Jager Bombs with testosterone and made the rest of my night fucking miserable by constantly grunting and chest-bumping, so all hope of talking sense to them was moot. One would presume that this aggressive display of That Guyity stems from a collective urge to differentiate the group’s identity from that of the aforementioned Ya Dude subculture by asserting an affection and respect for the craft of brewing that exceeds that with which Ya Dudes are typically associated but thereby inadvertently compartmentalizing themselves as members of the same subculture whose stereotypes they had originally wished to avoid. One would hypothesize that these individuals would have been better served by forgoing the none-too-subtly-camouflaged cargo shorts and product-supported phallic hairstyles, in obvious addition to the t-shirts they wore in support of the Craft Beer Festival that they were already attending.

Later that evening, the writer also attended a screening of the Joss Whedon film “Serenity,” (along with “Dr. Horrible’s Sing-a-long Blog”) wherein it was discovered in the attending demographic a proportional relationship between obesity/social awkwardness and That Guy as well (additionally, there is an even more bizarre That Guy derivative that stems from this culture, in which an individual finds it appropriate to wear an XXL [or larger] t-shirt, regardless of his or her actual weight, that declares his or her support for the musical entity known as “Metallica,” [and their offshoot, “Megadeth”] at all times).