Tribal Patterns

Hi.

I haven’t done one of these in a while, due to a number of reasons I’d rather not get into. But seeing as that ghastly, oozing, pus-filled sore on the collective face of humanity we like to affectionately refer to as Fashion Week has mercifully ended for the year, I feel like you suckers may be in for a good old-fashioned down-home kick in the sartorial nuts. Better hydrate and take plenty of bathroom breaks, because it’s about to get all anthropological up in this bitch.

I am about to open up a can of whoop-ass on this shit:

Yeah, that’s right. Tribal. Fucking. Patterns.

Now, those of you who know me personally have already made peace with the fact that political correctness isn’t terribly high on my list of priorities. I calls ‘em as I sees ‘em, like a good little cantankerous  34-year old with high-functioning Tourette’s. Still, I typically make a good-faith effort to at least keep the decibel levels of my outrage to a minimum. But when I started seeing these sartorial excrements cropping up all over the place both in wide-leg and leggings varieties, I found that my capacity for subdued expression was sorely put to the test. So, in no particular order, here’s what really fucks me off about Tribal Print.

So, OK. I get it. You Americans are a weird bunch. You love to be as offensive as possible, but still maintain a sense of cultural decorum about it. Fine. Whatever floats your boat. Personally, back in Soviet Russia, we just shot things we disagreed with in the back of the head, dumped them in a landfill, and called it a day. But I get it, cultures vary. But Americans are hilariously selective about their bigotry: they elect an black president, but expect him to act with the castrated decorum of a pasty Canadian. Huh? Well, we wouldn’t want all the white people to feel threatened! And then they pat themselves on the back for being such good sports for allowing a black dude in the White House.

Yaaay us, aren’t we so tolerant?

Uh huh. You know what we call that where most civilized, intelligent sub-species of human come from?

Xenophilia. That’s right. Better known to you mouth-breathers as “cultural tourism.”

You appropriate the aspects of a culture you like (i.e., deem non-threatening to your narrow worldviews and sensitivities) and co-opt it to fit in with your lifestyle. Ta-daa! Instant makeover, you guys, OMG selfie!!!

Well, fuck that noise. This bizarre pseudo-Victorian propriety game you guys are playing is fucking bullshit, and it’s boring me to tears to even try explaining to you why it should be tightly packed into a high-velocity railgun and fired directly into the sun.

Seriously, “tribal?” Are you fucking kidding me with this? That’s like calling a Kazakh person “oriental” just because their features appear slightly mongoloid, or referring to udon as “pasta” because, hell, it’s bread in soupy, long form. “Oh, it’s all right, Ethel, all those Chinamen are basically just the same. Heck, I can’t tell them apart!”

The bottom line is, you can’t say these patterns are “African,” because that would be offensive to the people living in Africa. So, we have to paint with a slightly less broad strokes of a slightly less broad brush so as to stay just the right distance away from being the patronizing tools everyone already knows you to be. So, hey, let’s just isolate the cultural-developmental subsets of African people. They certainly won’t care! Hell, tribes are what Africa is all about, we don’t even have to distinguish them from one another. It’s all “tribal,” right?

Fuck.

You.

Do me a favor right now. Go to Google Image search, and just type in “African Person” into the search bar. See what comes up. Don’t argue with me, don’t protest, just do it. Scroll down for a few minutes, while you are at it.

I’ll wait.

Ready? Good. That slew of images you saw should probably reflect any number of ethnic sub-groups, states of dress, and skin colors. You should have seen everything, from super dark-skinned Mursi women from the Omo River valley of Ethiopia, with those plates in their lower lips, to dudes who essentially look like you and me, save for their distinctly middle-eastern facial features, aka Berbers. So, again, now: which of these, or any of the other thousand tribes does the pattern on your little fucking set of trousers come from?

So, to recap: this fascination with the exotic is bullshit. If you want exoticism, experience it on its own terms, don’t just cherry-pick it because it’s ginchy, cool, or otherwise visually appealing. I mean, fuck, you don’t see ME dressing up in a fucking giant-ass Russian hat, and sitting around with a balalaika and a bottle of vodka just to get attention, do you?

OK, maybe that one’s a bad example. Besides, that’s a banjo. Totally different thing.

It's Time for Fall... as in Fall into a Landfill and Die

Occasionally, when my wife convinces me to emerge from the dark, comforting cocoon I refer to as "the apartment we live in," we go into that great beyond called "Outside". Sometimes, when we go Outside, we actually even go places we don't normally go. 

Like Brookline.

And boy, when we do, I am perpetually greeted with new and exciting things that make me vomit in my mouth a little bit. Sure enough, today was another one of those days. As we set foot on hostile Brookline soil, we were greeted with a veritable cavalcade of this shit:

Notice a pattern? Were all these chicks out for a ride at the local stables or something? Is that whythey are wearing tight pants and in some cases, knee-high boots? Oh, what's that, you say? There are no public stables in Brookline, or anywhere around the general Brookline area and/or vicinity? Well, then, fuck you. 

Look, here's the deal. I'm willing to forgive some pretty egregious sins in fashion. Hell, I will occasionally tolerate a properly accessorized tech vest on a guy who knows how to pull it off. But I firmly stand by  SRF Rule #1. For those who don't remember, it goes something like:

LEGGINGS ARE NOT PANTS.

Got it? Don't wear them as if they're trousers. No one wants to see your ass crack. No one is interested in how good your legs look without a skirt to cover up the derriere. You want to amaze me with the way you dress yourself? Put on a skirt or a pair of actual pants, and cut the "Tee-hee, I do dressage in the Berkshires!" bullshit. Granted, I understand the tendency: women in the 1960s also dressed similarly... except THEY ALL WORE SKIRTS WHEN THEY WORE THEIR TIGHTS.  

Here's a suggestion: if you want to wear boots, wear them under high-waisted wide-leg pants. It'll make your legs look longer, thus achieving the very effect you've been failing at by exposing your crack to the wind. Don't like high-waisted pants? How about a high-waisted skirt that goes to medium thigh? Boom, same result! And, for fuck's sake, stop tucking your jeans into your boots unless you know how to do it right. They bunch up in very unpleasant ways around the boot top, and you look like a fucking dolt. We get it: you want to show off your $300 boots... well, don't show them off by exposing the part that matters (the actual boot, not the leg of the boot), and cover the rest of your shit up! Protip: when I look at a person's footwear, the part that strikes me the most is the part that actually goes on the foot. Far as I'm concerned, you can do whatever the fuck you want with your ankles and knees, provided it isn't "legwarmers".

Just... buy a pair of real fuckin' pants. And if you don't want to do that, do the rest of the world a favor: stay inside, and spare us the indignity of having to witness you wearing tights as trousers.

As you were. SRF out.

2011 Fall Fashion

So, because it is September 2nd, it seems as though I am obligated to say a few words about fall fashion. You ready for this? Here it is!

Fall fashion is bull pocky.

OK, so maybe it's true: we all dress a little bit warmer in the colder months. Maybe the rain coat comes out, perhaps the occasional scarf, but overall, I hardly think that a 10-degree drop in weather is cause to celebrate rampant consumerism by buying a whole new wardrobe and a matching dresser. Honestly, the whole idea of it seems a bit preposterous to me, especially when designers showcase a whole gamut of colors on the runway - meanwhile, the rest of us associate fall with exactly two colors: brown and gray.

Taking a quick look at what might be becoming the new "it" items of Fall of 2011, I stumbled upon the Fall Fashion issue of New York Magazine for 2011. I think it bears a bit of discussion, since a number of the items on their list of projections kind of made me cry.

1. Bold Orange. Excuse me, but huh? Sure, I know leaves turn orange in the fall for about two weeks, but if the object of fashion is to stand out and not blend in with everything else, do you really expect individuals to buy a puffy orange coat just so they can play Rambo in Central Park for a period of ten to fourteen days? I somehow doubt it.

2. Warm Jackets. I don't really even know where to begin here. You're telling me that warm clothing is in this fall? Jesus fucking Christ, stop the presses.

3. Fur. See number 2. Regardless of how you feel about PETA's ads, fur was always associated with warmth, so really, kind of a no-brainer.

4. Snakeskin. I understand this is a craze right now, but seriously, time to give it a rest. I checked out on the snake-skin trend when I heard that some people actually apply that shit as nail polish. Seriously, enough is enough.

5. Mixed Prints. Because nothing says "fall" to me as much as walking around looking like an Andy Warhol print.

My plan for fall is to continue wearing what I was wearing in the summer, only warmer, and more of it. Occasionally, I will surrender to my pretentious hipster side and throw on a scarf when the temperature dips to 58 degrees. But only if the scarf comes paired with some kind of coat.

We're done here.

Spring Fashion

(Before we begin, I’d like to take a moment to add a disclaimer: I do not know the persons in the photos contained in this post, nor do I want to. Nor do I particularly care if their feelings are hurt by my criticism of their attires. Nor, finally, did I ask permission to use these photograph – certainly, no more than Facebook or Myspace ask permission to do what I did. The images were chosen on a purely arbitrary basis from a sizable pool of images, which came up via Google image search. Quite frankly, if you don’t want people looking at, or worse, critiquing your clothes, don’t put up pictures of them where they can be easily seen and critiqued. Having said that, let’s plow ahead.)



It’s May, spring is in the air, and, naturally, we all know what that means. That’s right: people dressing themselves like they’re about to be the central attraction at a Parisian circus sideshow.



Now, granted, I will be the first, and certainly far from the only, person to admit that my idea of “dressing myself” is just a shade less conservative than that of Tim Gunn or William F. Buckley. However, while there is a broad spectrum of fashion choices between fancy suits from designers with Italian-sounding names and the tried-yet-true boot-cut jeans, sports jackets, and collared shirts, there’s a reason most sensible people stick to those options: they are very, very difficult to fuck up. Unless you have a horribly misshapen body, or don’t know how to put on a pair of pants, chances are good you’re going to look good in something more stylistically conservative. At the very least, you will keep yourselves from looking like Faulknerian manbabies who followed an ill-advised decision to dress themselves after a prolonged bout of huffing cow manure and paint thinner.

The next point I want to make dovetails directly out of the idea of wardrobe conservatism. While I am fully aware that many individuals dress themselves for comfort every bit as much as they dress themselves to stand out, I sometimes question what passes as “attention grabbers” in the way some of us dress. Being the resident of a major metropolitan area, I get to see a lot of people dressing themselves as follows:

Let’s take a moment to dissect this fetid corpse of an outfit. For starters, many of you who read this blog may already be familiar with my stance on certain elements of dress style, and what does and does not constitute clothing. For those of you who are new, or are just plain illiterate, here they are:



1. Flip flops are not shoes.

2. Leggings are not pants.

3. Tank tops are not shirts.



It is only by force of sheer amazement do I need to comment that the above outfit has successfully broken all three of my fucking rules.



If only this was an isolated incident. The campus of the university I attend is positively lousy with people dressing themselves in a plethora of variations on the above theme. Yes, apparently we have somehow gone from the understated, demure, and yet unbelievably aesthetically appealing clothing of the 1940s, from the over-the-top chic threads of the 1960s, and from the flower-child Jim Morrison looks of the 1970s to this: throwing on shower shoes and undergarments, and pretending like they constitute a functional attire.



I call bullshit.



Let’s address the flip-flops first. My main problem with flip-flops stems from the fact that they are, in effect and in function, not shoes. They are, fundamentally, slippers one wears to nasty international hostel showers so as to not pick up whatever toe fungus that lurks in their washbasins, nothing more. They are not shoes because they are completely ineffective at providing the most basic function of a shoe: heel and ankle support, and protection of the foot. Even the most expensive flip-flops will not support your arch the way some of the shittiest flats from Payless Shoes will, and if you don’t believe me on the “foot protection” part, then do me a favor. Pack your flip-flops into a suitcase and fly down to Napoli, Paris, Frankfurt, or any major European city and see how you get on after a day or so of walking the cobblestone streets where stray dog turds are the least of your hygienical problems.



In the past, I’ve frequently been asked how I feel about designer flip-flops. After all, if price denotes quality, a $300 flip-flop from Salvatore Ferragamo should really be excused from the above blanket statement. I tend to answer that question by asking one of my own: “Before you, on a china plate, sits a piece of fancy, expensive cake or torte. As you poke your fork in it, you realize that it’s made of human feces. Would you eat it?” That is how I feel about designer flip-flops. You can’t polish a turd, and, following that maxim, no amount of over-designing and over-pricing a flip-flop will ever – ever – make it a real shoe.



Next, the leggings. While I have no problem with tight pants such as skinny jeans, or slim fit trousers, consider the following: both of those are actual pants. They are made of multiple pieces of cloth, have functional trimmings such as pockets, belt loops, zippers, and, occasionally, cuffs. Leggings, on the other hand, are the equivalent of a bodice or a corset, but for your lower body. Again, they serve no functional purpose apart from helping you shape your lower body. They have to be worn with something, or their intended function is completely misappropriated. Either wear pants, or don’t; but please, don’t wear not-pants.



Finally, tank tops as shirts. There’s really not a whole lot to say, apart from the fact that they, too, do not constitute anything more than undergarments (in fact, you may be noticing a developing pattern here). Most individuals who wear them argue that they’re really comfortable, and allow your skin to breathe. True, but allowing your skin some aeration will be the least of your concern when you experience a second-degree sunburn. Trust me, I have seen enough people both in the Southern part of the United States as well as abroad make this mistake, and pay for it with a blistery vengeance. Want a nice substitute? A short-sleeve white cotton shirt will perform the same exact function, affording you greater comfort while ensuring you don’t look like you just casually strolled in from the gym. And really, looking like you didn’t just come from the gym is what dressing yourself fashionably is ultimately all about.



Until next time, this is SRF signing off.

The Great Flip Flop Debate

Flip flips are not shoes.

Dudes: if you want something that is lightweight, yet lets your foot breathe, do the right thing and get yourself a pair of these babies.

Ladies: if you are looking for comfortable, easy-to-wear, yet classy shoes, here's an option


Not a fan of gladiator sandals? How about this?

Not a fan of open-toed shoes? Fine

Want a bit more heel? No problem!