Dear NTB, Today on the first day of classes a gentleman decided to roll into my accounting class sporting a Canadian tuxedo, a True Religion one to be exact, also he was wearing earrings that had his name on them and had a pair of Beats around his neck, Not to mention he showed up late. Is there any hope for this clown?
Matching your pocket square identically to your tie is dull and amateurish. If given the opportunity to order two sides at a restaurant, would you go in on a double stack of salads? If you answered this question in the affirmative, you have no imagination and need to live a little; that is, unless you have a roughage deficiency. Then, I feel for you, homie.
Simon Spurr RTW Fall Winter 2012-13.
Classic american tailoring mix with sportwear, yes classic but not for that flat; a terrific exhibition from the favorite of the red carpets, Simon Spurr made us travel trough his clothes, my destination Rio de Janeiro because of the prints of the suits, shirts and sweater reminded me the “Cidade Maravilhosa”.
Yesterday started off with a bang and ended with a whimper. After Mr. Ervell wooed his audience with a show that was equal parts 1984 and The Matrix Revolutions, contemporary “urban commando” uniforms paired to Gucci Mane chopped and screwed over some dubstep, NYFW attendees wandered around Milk Studios, kicked it at the Gillette x Blind Barber pop-up or high-tailed it to shows off-site while waiting in great anticipation for Simon Spurr. And then Mr. Spurr not only dropped the ball, but he did so in a manner so spectacularly it seemed like Super Bowl XLVI all over again.
If given the responsibility to name the collection, I would have gone with “Loud for Loud’s Sake.” Aside from some pretty serious blue outerwear (I’m not even playing, shit was dope) and chromed-out umbrellas that would make Weezy circa 2006 proud, the collection was just one hodgepodge of patterns on patterns on patterns mixed with monochromatic suiting, gimmicky details and a deluge of contrast sleeves.
And the music sucked; my God, the music was terrible.
Notice how you do not recognize neither Captain Dickhead nor Lieutenant Doucher despite having obviously attended Pitti Uomo, a place that produces enough photos to break the Internet? That should raise a flag the color red like a fuckin’ low battery. Especially my mans on the left—tweed shooting blazer on some pleated suit pants? I mean, I hope and pray to God that’s because Alitalia lost his luggage, because that shit’s foul like crack in the ’80s.
(Source: vizatrix, via tetinotete)
Hey bro, I don't know if you have a lady in your life but what would you get your woman for Christmas? I'm sick of asking my older sister about this. My girl keeps saying she doesn't want anything but I would feel guilty if I don't do anything this year. No dick in a box please.
You really saved yourself with that last sentence. In any event, it all depends on your budget and how long you guys have been dating. I mean, if you’ve only been together for a couple of months and work the graveyard shift at your local mall, your lady would be batshit insane to expect something in her driveway with a bow on it. Then again, if you’ve been together for five years and are sitting on a hundred trillion, you would be batshit insane to expect her to be amenable to anything less than something in her driveway with a bow on it. Ya dig?
BONUS TIP: At the end of the day, I never met a chick that didn’t appreciate hard dick and bubblegum, so go with that.
I look at him and am overcome by the thought of ripping out his larynx with my bare hands. Ninety-nine times out of one hundred, I only half-heartedly poke fun at lame ass dudes doing lame ass things; it’s only for that special one that I reserve a hatred so primal. It overpowers my sensibilities, so much so that I find myself scribbling absurd notes on Thanksgiving night.
I am thankful for his existence, I am thankful for people like him, soft as microwaved bananas, soft as a motherfucker. Despite all his efforts to emulate Joe Strummer, we see right through him, as he ethers himself on the interwebz.
Happy Thanksgiving, Tumblr. Thank you for making my job so easy, Look Book.
I skateboard, how do skaters look good?
After dropping a "methinks" after that list of "I was listening to _____ BEFORE they were cool" artists, I've come to the conclusion you're a smarmy piece of shit. Thanks.
Welp, here goes:
- I used “methinks” ironically, shit for brains;
- That wasn’t a list of “I was listening to ______ BEFORE they were cool” artists—it was a lyric directly from LCD Soundsystem’s “Losing My Edge,” a group to which I do listen; and
- Some of the listed artists were never ”cool,” which is the reason why the LCD track has become somewhat of a purist’s anthem; moreover, I never explicitly used the word “before,” nor did I remotely imply that I was on some shit before everybody else. In fact, most people still aren’t on The Heat, Pharaoh Sanders etc. Which is certainly a shame, but I don’t go around pronouncing that.
Next time someone asks that question I’ll be sure to answer Jay-Z, Kanye West, Lil’ Wayne and Drake. How does that sound to you? You whiny philistine?
Nice Try Bro / Anonymous blogger at large / Metalface Terrorist / Eat bloggers like part of a complete breakfast, they post ain’t worth the weight of they cheap necklace
Gaws x Blind Barber x Nice Try, Bro a.k.a. SLAP YOUR FAVORITE BLOGGER x Metalface Doom x Fuck Aybody.
look 5 - my number one.
This photo doesn’t do Bottega any justice because, you see, the pants are actually assless.
On a serious note, aside from a futuristic rodeo somewhere in Andromeda circa 2366 AD, where would wearing an outfit like this be appropriate? Would you feel comfortable meeting your future wife’s parents in that thing? How about at the office? No? Well, maybe the supermarket? Shit, losing options. I KNOW! This wouldn’t look so bad on a motorcycle now, would it? Because everyone should be so lucky to prevent oneself from roadrash in a $2000 jacket and $700 pants.
And as a matter of practical advice, unless you got swagger on one hundred thousand trillion, please don’t wear brown shoes with black pants.