Faux of July
Who says stars and stripes are only applicable when considering American patriotism?
Two important things are happening here. The first and less important looks as follows: I am submitting that I will not let the stereotypical outfitting guidelines of the days leading up to and landing on Fourth of July deter my early June. The fundamental problem with holiday-specific thematic dressing is that it obliterates combinations of the color and pattern variety for, let’s say, the additional 360 unrelated days of the year.
That is a denim suit and those pants are so obtrusively high waist, it would practically be a crime to wait another month to ensure that my perman-friend never look at my ass with the same lustful candor in his gaze again. Naturally, when one wears a denim suit featuring tiny white stars stationed all across it and (sheepishly) owns a pair of red and white striped booties, it would register ludicrous to consider any other blazon of footwear option.
As you can see, I am wearing my BalenciHAHAHAHJAHAHA knuckle dusters, which are a perfect accoutrement to compliment the Nancy Drew cover cloaking the lower half of my face.
But why Nancy Drew, right?
Wrong. That is a terrible question. Girls who solve mysteries always have a place on Man Repeller. The question you should be asking is: Hey, where did you get that book?
The answer? There is this charming, tiny, makeshift metal box on 1st Street between Bowery and Second, strapped to a pole, subsisting in a little graffiti-infested caveat called Extra Place. Under the box, a white note reads “Free Public Library.” The supposition is that you will take a book from the small box, let it bequeath you new knowledge and pay back humanity (or more specifically, the book’s previous owner) by replacing his/her book with another. The last I checked, there was no Shel Silverstein in there but don’t you worry, I put an end to that quagmire last week.
I really like the idea of a no hassle, non-traditional, easy as pie (and likely sweeter too), every day library, maintained by neighborhood denizens sharing the literary treasure of their mental objects and curious to learn a little bit about their neighbors. You can, of course, rest assured that come September 10th, there will be far too many copies of a familiar-looking book of essays, covered in flare leg overalls, permeating that box.
Now I just wish it had been a star spangled suit.