Salute your Shorts
Bermuda shorts, that is.
I had a pair of seer sucker Bermuda shorts when I was fifteen, I wore them all the time. Everyone hated them, including my mom who never judges me not even when I still every so often find the result of a nose picking session quietly and subtly making it’s way into my mouth. Just kidding. I, however, did not. A traumatic experience followed the ritual wearing of my knee flirters and perhaps speaks to the very reason I never hated looking like a Bermudan but that’s a story for another time, one that bodes far closer to the release of a certain book about mixed nuts…This week in new and innovative ways to give your legs something to cry about: so long denim cut off, hello Bermuda. An ambiguous trend, perhaps, but we’re ambiguous people. Ones that certainly don’t sit out the potential opportunity to close the cage in fresh new ways. Am I right? I think yes. And so:
Two birds–three if you include the notion of a genuine action shot–one stone, boom. Hawaiian tropics and Bermuda come together in one synergistic image that subtly but not inadvertently convey this sentiment: fashion victim. But only below 14th street. And I have to say, it’s refreshing to rid the prospect of potentially having to shave your thighs though if you follow me on