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Danishland garms for the pauperized

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What’s with this guy’s miserable ass? Look at him. Hasn’t he got anything better to do than sit around in ‘art spaces’ looking double-miz-miz? And what’s he trying to camo-himself from? Grannies tutting at modern art? Is he into the gift shop for six large and can’t pay?

He’s actually ‘selling’ the Eat Dust range. I guess he’s just an older Dutch bro with magnificent hair. He should perk the fuck up. The Eat Dust range works okay, and at the price points, even an H&M tier bro could step up.

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Space God reminded me I’m just a bellpiece with an overpriced patchwork cardigan

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This week I’ve uncooled myself a number of times. I ordered a cocktail in a scenester bar, bent down to pick up my bag and forcefully struck my forehead on the bar. Customers and bar staff looked at me. I picked up my cocktail and walked away like nothing had happened, my eyes tearing up.

A day later, I was in Garbstore buying a jacket. The server handed me the bag, I reached down to pick up my rucksack and banged my forehead hard on her laptop screen. She asked if I was okay. I said ‘yes’. I hurriedly left. In some pain. I don’t know what the fuck’s going on.

To cap it off, I printed some promotional stickers for this blog. I stuck one on the toilet door of a local bar. It looks like it says rampboy.cum. I’m killing it this week.

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Got the time brah?

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You know when something really looks like something, but it’s not that thing, it’s another thing? Kind of like Galaxy chocolate. It looks like chocolate and smells a bit like chocolate, but tastes like piss and stones.  To the unskilled eye, train timetables look like works of fact. Rather than the teeth-grinding satire they in fact are. So too, this jacket. Menwearists of menswear can be tossed some slack for assuming we’re looking at a Junya piece. It’s actually by Indigo Farm. And about half the price of a wallet-crushing Watanabe. I think that’s pretty exciting. Certainly exciting enough to make the bro above forget to put his watch on.

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Relieved of your irritating wealth

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What is with these hats? You’ve probably been wondering? What do you mean you haven’t? These hats. Big floppy felt hats. You know, they’re everywhere. I mean, not actually on normal people. Not normal people in the street. Who cares about them?

They’re on blogs. And in pictures from fashion weeks. And, like, online shops and that. That makes them a thing. They’re a thing. It doesn’t matter that no one you know will wear them. That’s of the least possible importance. What matters is that they exist. Some people think they’re a thing. And that means you should too…

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An abstract map of my adventures

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I find it hard saying goodbye to clothes. After all, you take a journey together. From box-fresh pride, through multiple washes and cleans (that never quite reproduce the original veneer) to eventual abandonment. At one time, every piece I bought, was my favourite thing. Fleetingly, they each had their moment – by virtue of being newfangled, or topical or simply unspoiled. Everything was once my favourite – my go-to piece for a night out. Some had a longer tenure at the top table than others. Some lasted little more than a single, disappointingly uncomfortable wear. But all, had their moment. All brought me joy. But now it’s time to say goodbye.

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