It’s difficult to express just how much I don’t enjoy being photographed. On the one hand, I think these kind of posts add a little variety in-between the usual ‘look at this Japanese thing, it’s weird and expensive, I’m not sure if I like it or not’ rubbish. On the other hand, actually leaving the house with the express purpose of being snapped and trying not to look like an astonishing bellend, as people walk past thinking, “who’s that astonishing bellend?” is something of a challenge. I feel like Cersei Lannister on her walk of, “shame, shame, shame.” Only without the benefit of a CGI head.
The best thing is that on a deathly quiet bank holiday Monday in Peckham, when there are no cars and no people about, as soon as you pull out your camera, the place swarms with slow moving cars and people with fucking dogs and prams all staring at you. All smirking. All whispering to each other. All looking, but pretending not to.
Anyway, let’s get this fucking done. I’m wearing a knitted cotton bomber by Blurhms (which you can still grab over at Garbstore) and an Engineered Garments Engineer Jacket, like this one, but mine’s in dungaree cloth. My wide-ass trousers are from Barena, I nabbed them in San Francisco from Union Made and my socks are Anonymous Ism. Both the hat (Tatamize) and the sneakers (Sandays) are from Alpha Shadows – by some way, in my view, the most interesting menswear stockist in London. Now, stop bloody staring…
I don’t know if it’s possible to take a picture of your own ankle without the result looking like you’ve got an awful problem with waste retention.
The Twitter is full of them.
Water, not waste.
That’s an altogether other and quite horrendous sounding problem.
I can relate to this one. Oh, and waste retention, had a good chuckle at that one as well. Quality.
Lose the hat you look fucking dolly dimple.