Leave Bieber Alone
I’m offended, really.
(As whined to the tune of Leave Britney Alone.) In hindsight, I really regret not turning this into a video.
Does this look like the face of a happy person? I enjoy a Justin Bieber parody just as much as the next YouTube enthusiast, and my heart near dropped directly into my left ovary the first time I saw a mop-head laden Jimmy Fallon emulate Bieber’s electric slide on an SNL christmas special. But following the atrocious events of earlier this week, I have to wonder: what is so wrong with overalls?
For those of you who wonder the same question, context: Justin Bieber wore overalls to receive an accolade (the Diamond Jubilee Medal, which forces me to ask if the medal in question is actually just Rihanna popping out of a cake, serenading the Biebs, while topless?) from the prime minister of Canada. As a result, the internet went into severe digital cardiac arrest. Profound literary heavyweights such as Us Weekly raced to deliver the most accurate coverage of what can promise to go down in future textbooks as the most impotent debate in the history of communication: should Bieber have worn overalls in the presence of such notable authority or not?
But does it really matter? I revert back to my initial question–what’s so wrong with overalls?
Historically, they’ve been recognized as protective gear in the work place. And while a tete-a-tete with a Prime Minister may not render “work” for us mere mortals, such is certainly the case for the Biebs, his pout and that now ubiquitous thumb planted firmly up.
Currently, using the bathroom will inevitably present some marginal problems but we are a generation of thoughtful denim aficionados, carrying the indigo torches of our ancestors. In recognizing that, what’s a little urine on the crevice of a pant crotch? Warm, is all.
Getting dressed seems profoundly easier when you can anticipate that a large patch of denim will cover your chest. Near your trunk, the queries about the state of your ass–does it look big? does it look small?–conclusively dissipate. See, when you’re in overalls, there is no ass. This should have nothing to do with informality–the shoes photographed above are satin female tuxedo shoes. Lesson learned: clothes are only as casual (or consequently formal) as the accoutrements (or vocal chords) you pair them with.
Finally, overalls provide something that no sex change, passport, or unlimited access to Rosetta Stone could and that is: conceivable French kid swag. That’s better than magic.
So please, join me in sympathizing with Bieber’s sartorially apt decision to wear his overalls, the guy is Canadian, after all and that flag is practically made of denim.
Separately, here is my hip ear cuff, which slightly resembles a question mark and wholly functions as a fantastically glorified hearing aid, only I can’t hear any better through it. The baby cockroach in my lobe is Ileana Makri and that spot on the side of my face is a souvenir the sun bequeathed me against my will.
Photos by Naomi Shon and slideshows are up! What does thee think?