Summer Clothes

Fixies kill people. Stephanie’s wearing a Where’s Waldo shirt and blue shorts like that’s the notable part, not that she’s somehow alive.

There are genuinely ugly kids in the world. Their parents could do everyone a favor with a bag, spare them the damage of being seen, but that’s not going to happen. At least in theory someone would be happy.

Ankle chains disappeared from fashion for no good reason, which is a shame because they actually work on thin legs in summer heat. Karla never got the memo. She wears them constantly, like she’s rediscovered something everyone else deliberately forgot.

Camo in 2011 takes guts. Kalle and Rüdiger pulled it off. Their other fashion choices were questionable, and I’m choosing not to think about them.

Workshop Will’s proud of Thunder Doris. The tattoos, the rivets, the complete package. I’m not pretending—I’m just jealous I can’t fuck her.

The sun comes back after months of dark and suddenly there’s this girl in a yellow hoodie, blonde, smiling like she means it. Everything bouncing right. It’s almost aggressive how bright she is.

If you’re not emo, not hipster, not part of any tribe, ghetto clothes actually work on you fine. Don’t push it though. Smoking Steve knows where the line is. Be him and everything falls into place.

There’s this problem where I look good enough that random people take photos of me on the street. This shirt fixes it. Says: fuck off with your camera.

Vintage never really dies. You visit your grandmother, steal her old dresses—the wine-red flower prints, the forgotten stuff—and suddenly you’ve got something real. That’s how fashion should work. No thinking, just taking what’s good and running.