The Evolution of a Shirt

shirt

I bought this shirt a year and half ago.  I was working at NBC, snuck out to H&M and bought it.  I almost didn’t though.  I mean, who wants to take a fashion cue from Jay Leno.  Thankfully, I had female with me at the time.  I asked her, what the female consensus on denim shirts were.  I’d watched enough Seinfeld to fear this reaction.

She told me to go for it, but gave me two HUGE pieces of advice.  First, wear it with black jeans to avoid the whole Canadian Tuxedo thing.  Second, roll up the sleeves.  I bought the shirt, followed her advice and never looked back.

It immediately became my favorite shirt.  The ’98 Pedro of my sartorial rotation.  The go-to shirt.  In a year and a half it saw more than it’s fair share of Friday night bar scenes, first dates, and failed impromptu Rihanna meet ups.  Even Ryan Gosling totally stole the look.

Then today something happened.  It was over it.  I saw the shirt in my closet, put it on, and just felt – ehh -.  A year and half run as the shirt and I just wasn’t feeling it anymore.

Tonight, without a true ace in my sartorial rotation, I wore it out anyway.  I thought, I’d give it one more chance to recapture its magic.  And even though it received a compliment, it couldn’t buoy the once “go to shirt.”

So, it’s time.  It’s time to retire the shirt.  Maybe, like Jordan in ’95, Jay in ’06 or Clemens in ’04, in ’06 and in ’07, it will come out of retirement and one day return to prominence.  But for now, Good Night Denim Shirt, you had a great run.

My Side Chick

I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but lately (about the last month and half now) my blog game has been kinda weak-sauce

This is attributed to fact that I’ve been social mediaing and writing a twice-a-week blog post for a new e-comm menswear site.

So, if you want to catch up on some mensweary, fashiony, style write ups head over to HERE.

FNP.S.  Next week I’m coming back hard.  IN PURSUIT OF FRESHLY PRESSEDNESS

Excuse My Inner Teenage Girl For A Second

mini-rant

Considering I’m a 23 year old straight male who likes football and rap music the next statement may come off as odd.  Tavi Gevinson is awesome, and I love her blog, and I think she’s cool as hell and if I had to be a 16 year old girl I wish I could be her (note: if had to be an 11 year old girl I would be Willow Smith).

If you don’t know who Tavi Gevinson is, she’s a 16 year old fashion blogger who I can only describe as “Michelle Williams meets Fran Lebowitz meets an instagram account meets Sandy from Grease meets Michelle Tanner.”  Her blog is called TheStyleRookie where she makes playlists, takes pictures, posts about fashion (she already parties at exclusive Fashion Night Out events) and writes about life as a 16 year old girl.  And I love it, is that weird? (Yeah, it’s definitely weird).  She’s already 2041x cooler than I am or ever will be.

I kind of think she may be the real life female version of Benjamin Button.  That would at least explain her interest in Bob Dylan, Sonic Youth and The Smiths (awesome!!).  It would definitely explain her style (also awesome).  And it would  totally explain why she already has more personalty than half the actresses in Hollywood (i’m looking at you Jessica Alba).

After quickly reading what I wrote so far I want to say, I have a STRICTLY PLATONIC like for her, let’s not make this weird people.

I guess what I’m trying to say is Fuck Anna Wintour, Tavi Gavinson is the -ish.

#TeamTavi

Bad Hair Day

Haircut, oh haircut.  How I dread thee.  Every few months it comes time for the dreaded haircut.  It makes me envy the days of visiting the orthodontist.  My hatred of the haircut comes from an amalgam of things.  My inability/dislike of small talk.  My ineptitude of communicating the description of the haircut I want.  And the inevitable reveal, almost always displeasing.  I loathe getting my haircut, so much so, in college I bought clippers and shaved my head, for three year I successfully evaded any barbershop, salon or stylist.  Like most things, I grew bored with my crew cut and started venturing back out to the hair professionals.  Even so, I never attend the same barber or stylist more than twice.  It’s a kin to a loveless marriage, I start to despise the person’s contact.  Making me a barbershop nomad, moving from place to place, chair to chair.

As my hair grew long and the temperatures rose, I felt it was time for a haircut and not just a trim, but new hairstyle.   Something short and worthy of the change of season.  I made an appointment at a local hair salon (one I had never been to before), did some research on the internet and found a style I liked.  While I usually frequent barbershops, this salon offered a change of pace, one that employed ‘stylists’ not ‘barbers’, something I felt needed to be done, considering the radical change in hairstyle.

I entered the salon and approached the front desk.  With a quick glance, I could assess I was the lone male in the salon.  I gave the girl my name, and to my surprise (and pleasure), she said ‘Chris’ would be taking care of me today.  Ah ha, I wasn’t the only man in the building, I had another male compadre.  Oh, no I was wrong, Chris is a female Kris,  back to my isolated male existence.  I sat in the chair and started telling her what I wanted.  I could tell by the look on her face that the ineffective jumble of words I strung together did a poor job of conveying what I wanted, so I took out my iPhone and showed her a picture (do people actually show pictures to their hairdressers??), I felt so lame (compounding my lameness was the fact that the picture was of Ryan Gosling, how stupid does it look to be like “here, can you make me look like the Sexist Man Alive, thanks”).  I did like Kris though, she was short on small talk (I love that).  Then as she snipped away it was perfect, not quite the style I asked for, but it looked fantastic.  I should have said something, because she just kept cutting, and soon it was gone.  A haircut worthy of my dread.  Let me be clear it wasn’t Kris’ fault, she gave me what I asked for, but the style just didn’t fit my face or my head shape.

While I don’t like the way the top of my head looks right now, I am optimistic.  Every cloud has a silver lining.  And I feel cautiously confident that it will grow in nicely and look much better in a week or so when it gets a bit longer.  For the meantime, it’s time to break out the Yankee cap.