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| OK, it may be lame to talk about New York in the “good old days” but how about these Bernie Goetz-fuggedaboudit-been-to-Bellevue-been-to-jail-in-your-face tough guys that were here when the subways were still made of wood? Rich people don’t want them at parties because they do uncouth things like put a cracker near your face and ask, “Take a look at this, will ya? Is this fish?” but everyone wants them around when some crackhead is wielding a knife or fondling his gray dink in public. While everyone sits there dumbfounded, our buddy just rips it out of the guy’s hand, throws it in the garbage, and mumbles, “Goddamnit. You’re liable to hurt someone with that thing.” |
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Maybe Allah is right. Every night it’s the same story. There’s one girl you fixate on to the point where you’re wondering if it’s the shoes, the belt, or the Ms. Pacman that’s making you stare like an owl. Then you go home and lie in bed despising yourself for not saying anything. How long must we sing this song? Can we get some towels on these bitches’ heads please?
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| Are you a fartaholic? Do you wish you had a fart sometimes when you’re alone just because you feel like blasting yourself? Or do you ever do a joke where you know you’re going to fart so you grab someone’s pen and say, “Did you know these pens have an air pocket where—if you push right here it goes—” and then ROINK! you let one explode out of your ass? You do? Me too. How perfect is this shirt for us? |
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| Consider this a “fuck you” to all those assholes that said you can’t wear shoes lighter than your suit. Who made that rule anyhow? We need the tan shoes, gold belt, white shirt, and ID tag to give us little breaks from the darkness. They’re like candles in the chill-out room. |
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| Look at this sensual little lady perched confidently on the edge of your favorite booth. Is it your birthday? She’s got a classy Falco-Bettie Page thing that sort of says, “Guess what? You’re into dwarves. Put your drink down and kiss me.” |
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| Whoa, look what happened. Punk kids got so into that whole anti-sweatshop thing they became almost fascist about buying things that are made in America. Next thing you know they’ve got so many Vineyard Vine pants and Brooks Brothers polos they look like those evil preppies in Animal House who wedgie nerds. |
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| You’ll notice if you’re beating off to a porn mag and you come across a tiny picture of a girl on crutches or some kind of brace you’ll be all, “What the fuck is with that?—SPLOOGE!” Not sure why. There’s just something about damsels in distress that gets us going. Now, when they break their necks and wear tiny dresses they’ve pushed “damsel” and “distress” so far in either direction you almost get a replay of the mag incident right there in the bar. |
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| Who is this Prince Perfect? Goddamn. He is rocking every color you’ve ever seen before and riding a vehicle nobody’s ever seen before. And you know what else? He could give one one-hundredth of one shit what you have to say about it. |
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| Dear God, try to beat this: a black kid at a punk show wearing a shirt that has Jews doing Nazi covers. You can just hear the rich, white college kids going, “Hey, no fair, I wanted you to have an afro pick in your hair!” |
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| We’re not sure what this girl’s deal was. Probably some stylist from Milan in town on a job. The important thing is that her big huge Oriental beehive, floppy cardigan, booby flower shirt, breezy skirt, and high-tech minimalist flats remind us why, deep down, we never were really that into sluts. |
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| We saw this dude at some real serious Italian parade. He didn’t seem to know anybody and was rarely playing his trumpet but the verdict was: This stumbling little Chinese Jerry Lewis with the ridiculous facial gestures is the whole reason we hate normal people. |
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| As Four and all those faggy fashion designers can experiment all they want. Nobody can compete with the kind of creativity billions of shrill voices screaming into your ears can provide. Go ahead, homos, put on a pot of coffee and stare at your inspiration board; this guy is living in a swirling bad acid trip of deafening bass lines and raping babies. His summer collection is literally from hell. |
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| What is this guy, 14? How can someone who's 14 be so much better than us? Fuck, his whole thing is perfect, from the old Sid Vicious neck chain to the new Casualties shirt. The only thing bad I could say about his look is that my dick isn't in his mouth (just kidding). |
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| There's this new look going around called "traveling-business-lady grunge" and it's making us so horny we feel like running up to them, pulling out our dicks, and just sobbing. If you go from the bottom up, it's like Manolo Blahnik goes to Tampa, then has a meeting in Manhattan, and, finally, ends up goofing with the gals back at their sorority house. That's everything great about all women everywhere. |
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| Check the shoes. This is what we said in the DOs & DON'Ts guide: Stop giving us the ultimatum of "high heels or flip-flops." There are in-betweens. You can wear running shoes when it's hot out or it's a big walking day. If that feels too boring you can always spice things up by putting paint in your dog's hair. But please, stop making us endure five days of flip-flops just because we got one night of heels. |
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But when we do get heels night, it sure is a treat. Especially when they make themselves up to be a zippy piece of yellow and blue candy that is totally devoted to her friends but is still coming home with you. |
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| You know in the winter when you're wrestling with your coat buttons and your feet are always wet and you go, "I am getting fucking sick of freezing to death, when is it going to be summer?" Well, it's here, bitch. It's here in all its don't-give-a-shit-hanging-around- what-do-you-want-to-do-today glory. |
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Having a "Live by the bottle, die by the bottle" tattoo outside a liquor store is about as good as it gets. The only way you could fuck up this look is if you had track marks all over your arms and, like, a spider tattooed on your nose or something.
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| Never mind the choker (all kids make that mistake), this guy is so devoted to matching, he fucking spray-painted his shoes! What were you doing when you were that age, going through your "hat phase"? Fuck you. |
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Speaking of color coordination, check out how the steady dollops of pink add a loving thread to the already hugely optimistic gloves and sweater.
Heavy matching is the best thing black people ever taught us. |
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