The following space is all about fashion.

Or, I guess, a lack of it.

Of many of the things I have no clue about, fashion has remained one of them. Fashion. What is fashion? Like I said, I have no idea. What's fashionable to one person isn't to another. Fashion is all about taste, right? Not everyone likes peanut butter. Not everyone likes skinny jeans.

But as a person who does hope to look presentable to his fellow human beings, I've come to wonder more and more about what gives a person style. How fashion is born from personal preference into a brand adored by the millions. I love color. I love expression. And, like every other individual (even though, most of the time, we are all too sheepish to admit it), I love looking good. What makes a person look good in the clothes they wear? I mean, aside from being an IMG model or having a jawline that cuts glaciers.

I recently learned about "fit". Seriously. Before I had no idea "fit" was a thing, I thought you ran to become "fit". Turns out you buy clothes that "fit" your dimensions to appear "fit" as well. I'm using all of these quotation marks because I still don't really know how to figure out if an item of clothing is "fit" to my frame or not. I think you're supposed to measure your body or something. The only measurement I know of is my weight, which hasn't really changed in the past 3 years.

Anyways, I have come to realize that many of us are fashion-less. Following are two pieces about the journey of lacking style. Maybe one day fashion-less will become fashionable. Or, perhaps, the transition from fashion-less to fashionable is a natural progression in a human life - just like puberty. Boys ask men how to talk to girls and girls ask women how to talk to boys, so the fashion-less can ask the fashionable, right? Honestly, it seems to me like anything a famous person wears becomes fashion. Another reason why becoming famous is probably the most feasible thing for me to do (joking) (kind of) (70%).


Shameless Flannels

by Grace Calhoun, a dear friend of mine

I wish I had a pen and paper to more authentically jot down my thoughts of this morning. Some of the sincerity and innocence of writing always seems lost when writing things down on a phone. Still, I feel a bit like David. You know which David. I woke up this morning after a quick 15 minute nap to begin 4 consecutive days spent mostly awake. Rather than enjoy a night's rest before embodying the city that never sleeps, I found it more fitting to embark on this journey as restless as I will probably leave it. Plus my little sister wanted to grab In-N-Out at midnight, and who am I to crush her dreams.

Anyways I've never been much of a person for style. My clothes are what happened when a lunatic mother pressured a malleable young child into dressing "outside her box," when in truth, there never was a box. The resultant condition I now have is an eternal bad taste in clothes, which I maintain in my constant quest to find my fashion identity although I will probably never have one. This type of lifestyle grows old though, so I usually resort to not giving a fuck, especially today.

"We'll have to text Hannah and apologize for your outfit." My mother's words landed on me like an annoying insect and I verbally flicked it off, "Thanks for the ride Mom, love you." Ha. I showed her; and she thought that would break me. I'm traveling all day for heaven's sake, who wouldn't be wearing flannel on flannel over tye-dye, polished off with some fresh New Balances? The answer to that is actually most people here. People are dressed in what I'd at least consider business-casual. Goodness, is that woman over there actually wearing heels? It's 4 in the morning people, please.

They're boarding the plane now. Ugh this is my least favorite part, it's like all the humans magically become medieval sheep and we're all herded into our various social classes to determine who is most worthy to enter the plane first. At zone 4, I am a serf, the vermin of the plane.

In walking down the aisle to my seat, I notice that many of the passengers resemble fish heads. Their eyes are wide, while seeming only mildly delighted by my confidence in rocking the zone-4 serfdom. Certain fish heads are giving me an inadvertent expression saying "please not me," as if my bad taste in clothes or zones suggests I have cheese breath or contagious bugs. And really, why is nobody talking about graphic tee girl? That fashion fopaux should be addressed in the airplane safety presentation. "Please woman, for the sake of the passengers, take that wretched shirt off before it causes someone to die of nausea."


Questions I Have for The Sensibly Fashioned

by me

  1. Is black still the go-to color?

  2. Why do some clothes look hideous on some people but amazing on others?

  3. How long does a style stay "in style"?

  4. What is "fit" and how do I get it?

  5. Is there any way to not spend an absurd amount of money on fashionable clothes other than visiting a thrift store every other week?

  6. How do you make sure the clothes you acquire and wear are a) environmentally responsible and b) socially responsible?

  7. Why do some people wear all one color while others say wearing the same color for your whole outfit is "social suicide" (are all fashion claims so dramatic)?

  8. Is wearing my grandfather's clothes "hip" or out-of-date (I'm still going to wear them regardless)?

  9. I feel like there is a stigma about Hawaiian shirts, that they're all the same. Like, if you're wearing a Hawaiian shirt, that's it - it's just a Hawaiian shirt. Can't they be fashionable in their own right?

  10. Some people wear jeans and a t-shirt, and then GQ or Vogue go crazy over them. Like, what? How do I do that. I wear jeans and t-shirts too, but the only people that go crazy over me are Asian grandmothers when I hold open the door for them.