I suppose the question is, am I looking over a school wall? And I suppose the answer is, yes I am. I’m looking over a school wall. A SCHOOL WALL! I just wanted a way to show off the back of my jacket. I was with my boo, yo. Who do you think took the snap? Jesus, it feels wrong to even look in the direction of a school these days? Perhaps it doesn’t help that I’m dressed like the Pied Piper.
One morning, years ago, I went for a coffee with a mate. We sat, ordered and he quickly excused himself to go to the toilet. After three minutes, he came racing back to the table and said, “we’ve got to leave, now.”
I overheard a bloke in the lift misquote Nathan Barley this morning.
“Hahahah, like, completely Mexican, hahahahah“, he said. I looked at the floor.
It’s easy to get things wrong. I mean, I don’t. Never. I never, ever get things wrong. Unless, I’m bored. Occasionally, I do something deliberately wrong, you know, to catch the rest of the world out. Just to see if they’re paying attenshun.
These shoes are doing nothing wrong. I’ve been looking for a loafer with a flat, chunky sole for a long time. These are about the most not wrong versions I’ve seen. Or the rightest, if you’d rather.
The menswearist in Manchester is obliged to stop by Oi Polloi. I was there last week; it took me three minutes to hijack a new popover. If any guys in the UK embody the contemporary casual vibe right now, it’s the bros that work in the Polloi. Beards, five panels, Birkies, anoraks – you know the drill. The look, with its roots in the earliest football casuals, feels like a product of Manchester, one that informs the city’s notions of comradery, belonging, practicality and identity. And people say fashion is superficial.
Last night, when I finally got served in Bar Story, I thought about ordering ‘four of whatever takes the longest to make’. You know, just like everyone in front of me always seems to do. When did ‘a couple of beers’ in a bar, turn into a greengrocer display troupe? There’s more mulching, shredding, drizzling and grating, than there is actual liquid being served. Every time I go, there’s always some toolpiece in front of me ordering an allotment’s worth of diced vegetation, served in eggcups. It. Takes. Fucking. Ages.
Balls to that arable shit. I like to keep things simple. A simple pint with a dash of lime. A simple bag of regular peanuts. A simple pair of trainers that look like MTV fucking a pyjama factory.
Spot the odd one out?
So, Bike Repair Shop is a sub-brand of massive South Korean fashion empire BeanPole. You know BeanPole. Surely? Remember? It’s that brand you’ve never heard of. The one that’s sold in precisely no UK stores. Bike Repair Shop is a sub-brand of that.
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