Day 9, 7:30 AM - no sign of help: James thought skimming “The Essential Guide to Sailing Style” on GQ would have prepared him for Nantucket Sound, he sat on the stern knowing it hadn’t.
Net-a-porter? Mr. Porter?? Sean had just assumed that Airport Porter was a stepping stone to steezy e-commerce upper management. 47 minutes into his first shift and sleep was the only thing that could take him away from this leather-handled hell.
Reportage, Réportage? This shot was so euro, so nochalant, so joie de vivre. Ready. Aim. What the fuck? Erol looked up to find two other dickheads pilfering his goddamn Pulitzer. Just because they paid for Camera+ rather than using instagram like the rest of the world doesnt mean they could come in and fuck with his chiaroscuro.
"Guys! Guys! GUYS! look at me!" this was the right way to use one of these, right? Since the age of 7, Guy’s dad had kept him out of the playground and in his backyard “War Games Training Facility”. After 16 years of stabbing potato sacks he was slowly trying to regain what felt like a normal life, one swing at a time
He sauntered into Calculus 1, making sure the door slammed behind him, though Exeter had loosened up in the 10 years since he’d been there the class still gasped in shock. Shorts, No blazer. Fuck were they gonna do? He was Happy Trillmore
The #menswear scene was blowing up in Shibuya but all these plebes were stunting on everything from Alden to Zara. Time to bring some next level shit ‘cross the pacific. He called his proxy in St. Louis to see how he could one-up these peasants. Two weeks and $875 later he slipped on his Coogi Duffle and drained an imaginary 3 as he stepped out the door.
“your mom’s a snood”. Chad could only bear so much criticism about his infinity scarf. How hard was it to call it correctly anyway? Snoods are obviously for chicks, this shit was manly, this shit was cable knit, dog. Just as his confidence was returning he heard something from a nearby jeep wrangler, “NICE SNOOD DICKHEAD”…defeat
Those fuckers at kappa sig were going to pay. He’d been denied at their semi-annual “foam and dome” party for 3 years straight now. But not this year, not with his new APC Fratouflage sweatie. It was one small step for man, one giant leap for GDI kind.
Monday through Friday he was Chuck, a largely unsuccessful junior graphic designer from Rye. Every Saturday morning though, he became Captain Loopwheeler. Running around the den, freeing the world from tight fitting clothing. One pair of 510’s at a time.