Alexander Wang pumps, Acne jeans. Not all the eccentricity, frivolity and creative license of London Fashion Week is reserved for the runways, there’s a myriad of crazy manifesting outside whatever their tent equivalent is. I spotted Columbine Smille’s legs in one of New York Magazine’s extensive street style round ups and thought: holy man repeller, I wish my pumps were pink too. I’ve been fighting whether or not I will drop it like it’s hot and succumb to purchasing this particular pair of overpriced boyfriend–sorry, overweight brother jeans. They’re nice and low rise–all I want in life these days are jeans that close just north of my pubic hair–and feature such eloquent rips up the seams, ankles, legs, everywhere. They almost look like bleach spots. And I just don’t think I have the power to slash in such a calculated manner. This reminds me of that time I bought the jacket counterpart to these pants and then returned it because Sketch 42’s Nicole said I could make it. She was right, I never did though. This should theoretically solve the internal quarrel at hand, but alas, it doesn’t. I guess the moral of this sound bite is: I want to be on you.
And on The Streets