Fuck Yeah Menswear

Late last night I had a vision.

A world with no blogs.

No Tumblr.

No Twitter.

Not even fucking elbow patches.

It was horrible.

In a world without swag how does one stunt?

How does one stunt in a world without swag?

A cycle perpetuated by clearance racks at Kohl’s.

The finest men of my generation.

Those known for the crispyest kits.

Those known for the sickest fits.

Those known for tweeting the most ridonkulous sample sales.

Those known for taking pictures of themselves in public restrooms.

Those known for reblogging the steeziest street skeezers.

My heroes.

My brethren.

My bros.

Were suddenly different.

An entire generation lost in space.

And time.

Their go-to-hell souls vanished into thin air.

Gone forever.

They were doing volunteer work to meet bomb ass chicks.

Instead of just looking fucking awesome.

They had real jobs.

Instead of freelancing on Wordpress.

No one owned their own domain.

No one owned their own webstore.

My worst nightmare.

Worse than a T-Brizzle fashion show.

It was horrible.

I awoke in a panic.

My APC manjamas soaked in sweat.

Club collar twisted in fear.

I ran to the nearest of my walk-in closets.

Grabbed the flyest gear within reach.

Threw it on as quick as possible.

Making sure my sprezzy was still on point as fuck.

My fingers trembled as I took a seat.

At some rando granddaddy’s typewriter that I copped on Etsy, I began to flesh it out.

Doing my best to write it all down.

So I could save the world if need be.

So I could prevent the future if necessary.

So I could scan this dope ass shit to my blog later.