Friday, March 28, 2014
This is Drake.
He looks dope as fukkk tossing one dollar bills (has a lot of traction on the Canadian dollar right now, FYI) so casually as if he was about to toss wealth to a groom and bride at a wedding, or um, a stripper. He's a rapper, he's Jewish, he's a Canadian-Jewish rapper and most importantly, he's a millennial. Albeit, he has thousands of dollar bills and tons of Instagram followers and you can barely afford name brand body lotion. (That store brand is just as good.)
What if I told you that you can buy that rolex or that lifetime supply of quinoa.
I read in The Globe and Mail that the Ontario Lottery and Gaming Corporation (OLG), is on considerable decline like BlackBerry and are searching to lure millennials for a cradle-to-crave customer. Yes, my immigrant baby boomer parents are prime examples of the customers they have now, looking for an easy route out of labour through tickets spewing arbitrary numbers that could turn into cash (not literally, maybe).
Me, the millennial, unlike them, the baby boomers, have no fucking desire to go to a convenient store, carefully pick 6 numbers and pay $3-5. And I have to wait until like, 8 or 9 PM for them to draw the numbers or maybe the next day if the stakes are really high. Are you fucking kidding me? That could go into my RRSP or my TFSA where I'll have something palpable at the beginning of my retirement.
Anywho, couldn't you just do something mobile related? Done.
Millennials, such strange creatures.
Friday, March 21, 2014
And how you can try it too, while oil pulling.
Living in Toronto for two years now, you kind of adopt this attitude of being a neighbourhood elitist. I've had friends say, "who goes north of Bloor?" or "the fucking east end?" with either a dead pan expression or hysterical laughter.
I have to wonder, what is there north of Bloor? Do they have hydro and are harem pants acceptable? Traveling north was kind of a nuisance, I had to endure the street car and then transfer to a subway. Thankfully, that friend, moved east and I can with ease, leisurely cycle to his dwelling.
So, here's my stance on the above photo. South of the border, hip down, not so peachy, not cute, not adorable and I kind of wish he took cues from Pelayo Diaz of Kate Loves Me. Albeit, Diaz would do this so my argument is null. Just north of his erogenous zone, you have two unbuttoned buttons. Two. Not one. Two!
I can't. It just looks too good.
It was as if he foresaw the future of Alexander Wang's spring 2014 collection, belly button not included. Would that be tasteful? Are men allowed to casually display where their umbilical cord was once attached? I'll champion this next move.
I've mastered the art of buttoning all my buttons, like how I've mastered using chopsticks from birth, but unbuttoning the bottom two -- that's unchartered territory. He elicits his look with so much ease and confidence, it's unparalleled. I have to wonder, how does it move? Does it only look good when his hands are comfortably places in his pant pockets?
Tell me your secrets.
Thursday, March 20, 2014
Today's guest judge is none other than Canadian fairy queen, Grimes. Topic: cock. It can breed you, blind you (through ejaculation) and in certain sadistic circumstances, it can be a trophy (via castration).
According to Dr. Christopher Morriss-Roberts, cock size does matter. In regards to both homosexual and heterosexual males. There's research on the correlation between cock size and masculinity. The larger the cock size, the bigger douche you are. Albeit, too large, and you risk being redundant.
In the primitive years, wouldn't hunting your meal be considered masculine? Nothing beats a hot sweaty man bringing you sweet potatoes to the table. Or perhaps, today, donning Prada's spring/summer 2014 collection of floral prints and Rick Owens unisex wedges will define your masculinity.
There's an upkeep to your masculinity, in which, you must fuck everything in sight to remain alpha. That electric socket, fuck it, then tweet about it. That eggplant, fuck it, then Instagram it. Just fuck everything, please.
"Semi-erections are the new erections", says Grimes.
Photo: Grimes - Oblivion
Monday, March 17, 2014
It's Monday, it's beyond cold for March and I am feeling defeated. Maybe I need a socially constructed Menaissance to cure my woes. I'm defeated by the lack of, fashion photography and cargo shorts. I'm looking at you Tommy Ton and Phil Oh. Cargo shorts are, synonymous with the game Spot The Tourist and Kevin Federline, previous lover to I'm A Slave 4 U singer, Britney Spears. He knows how to sport cargo shorts.
Cargo shorts have a bad reputation. Lets refashion the discourse and more importantly, the fit.
I have been alive for 26 years now and I have seen my fair share of ill-fitted cargo shorts. I have in the past, unfortunately become a victim myself. They serve a function, but I think fashion and function should be a union. The large and obnoxious side pockets — which are comparable to the size of a glove compartment to the Mercedes-Benz G-Class model — are unnecessarily large and should be edited to fit a cellphone or a very slim wallet and not a large water bottle or a new born baby. It does not substitute a bag.
Like any shorts, the length should hit just above knee or I prefer a minimum 6 inch inseam. Any lower and you risk being ostracized from the fashion elite or even worse, you could be mistaken for a suburbanite. Just simple rules. It's all I ask. I'm not asking you to give me your kidneys, just don shorts with a cut that is above the knee.
Are cargo shorts ready for a comeback?
I sincerely hope so. Albeit, I can't find a retailer, but maybe bespoke cargo shorts are the only solution.
When in doubt: J. Crew.
Photo: Jak and Jil
Monday, March 10, 2014
Last summer, I was introduced to Le1f. The summer was sweltering and the New Balance sneaker trend was in full bloom. Wut was the track and shaking my ass was the game. (A scene you only want to see if you are willing to gouge your eyeballs after.) Le1f, how was that Ukrainian cutie sucking your muscles and do you still pour Evian?
The year is 2014, Russia is adamant on annexing Crimea (dumb) and Le1f is releasing his much hyped Hey EP on March 11. The cover: Le1f has stationed himself somewhere fabulous in Paris with his arm on his hip and staring into the abyss and he's sporting the dopest of dope orange knee-high socks. An homage to the 90's? Sure.
The EP, with a tracklist of 5 songs titled with one syllable words includes Wut. Eyeball gouging tools not included. You can stream the whole EP over at Pitchfork for your audible pleasure.
Saturday, March 8, 2014
As men are entering the fashion realm more aggressively, we're going to have new questions like, who wore it better? I'm glad you asked. Louis Vuitton's s/s 14 leather jacket made it to the March covers of Nylon Guys and Details. Who did wear it better? Is this even a question? I'm bored and these covers need analyzing, so why the hell not.
First, we have Norman Reedus, better known as Daryl Dixon, the red neck, crossbow zombie killing champion. So much testosterone. I don't like it when you drink, really. Your disposition went from reserved to a complete bro douchebag. You showcase a little chest hair, which, is a little sexy, but it appears you have bangs and I'm unsure if that is the best look for you. You pair it with what looks like a tank top and jeans, which give you a casual look, which is the Nylon Guys lifestyle.
Second, is Clement Chabernaud sharing the cover with two other models and when unfolded, a plethora of other male models. He's currently ranked #2 on models.com, just behind Sean O'Pry. His shoe size is a 9. Chabernaud casually relaxes his forearm on Garrett Neff's shoulder and bends his right leg a tad. This balances him out as relax next to two alpha male models, respectively.
In conclusion, I wish they peacocked the detailed graphic on the back.
Photos: Details Magazine & Nylon Guys
Monday, March 3, 2014
Cry anxiously until it goes away.
Lets say, a shirt, from American Apparel is made of 100% cotton and throwing the aforementioned item in the washer -- as instructed -- shouldn't be an issue. On the other hand, the above Givenchy t-shirt is as well, 100% cotton, albeit, more expensive, but instead, the care instructions prefer you to dry clean it instead.
What's the fucking difference?
They're both cotton, except one cost $610 and the other, $25. That added step of care, the dry cleaning, is giving you an illusion of luxury. The illusion that because you shelved out more dollars that this commodity has more value and therefore, should be cared for like your first born child. Should I be dry cleaning my AA shirt because it's 100% cotton too? The matter that you paid a fortune for juxtaposing prints, means that the extra cost of care is really a non-issue.
You are upper-middle class. You can afford to be frivolous and eat macarons on a whim.
Saturday, March 1, 2014
Paris fashion week jumpstarted this week to Dries Van Noten delivering a psychedelic offering and I was confounded when Gisele Bundchen closed Balenciaga. Should we still be surprised given that she once closed Alexander Wang's fall 2012? Yes.
It's Saturday and the only news you should care about this weekend is why Giovanna Battaglia is sitting in the second row, behind Rihanna and Mel Ottenberg (we'll get back to that sexy silver fox in a moment). Rihanna, part-time designer, world superstar and professional Instagrammer -- is a influential person. Sure. Does she deserve the front-row? Shouldn't it be reserved for people like Battaglia, Wintour, Blanks, Fargo, et al, who do business with fashion.
Here's the gist, Rihanna embodies fashion, she's fucking internationally famous, she (Mel?) creates trends. Ergo, fedoras are making a comeback and Battaglia still still gets second row.
Mel Ottenberg is a fashion editor, Rihanna's stylist (famous people don't know how to dress, duh), gay, babe, gay babe and father to my unborn children. He has to be photographed in the shadow of Rihanna. UPSETTING. Style.com knows better than to just photograph Rihanna alone, Mel, fashion person, is the result of her Lanvin front row ensemble, and thus, must be photographed, too.
Mel knows his way around a fax machine. Nothing turns me on more than a man who knows who to operate dated office technology. Swoon.