Believe it or not, I was once a fashion disaster. I towed the boy code line, wore t-shirts, shorts (always below the knee), and sneakers as plain as they came. Society, and more accurately the people I happened to be surrounded by, gave me the thumbs up. Yay for being boring, right?
It was all as boring as a sports game (so so boring). Besides my mug, which can’t be cracked, I was unhappy with my look. One day, like a premature ejaculation, I suddenly and quickly burst out into the world. My style rapidly went from snoreture (snore + couture) to scene boy. Think bright pictures, straightened hair, and skinny jeans.
I’m still not sure why someone didn’t grab me and start slapping me for that busted hairdo. Like for real I should’ve known it was not for me when I burned myself because my stupid ass used legitimate hair relaxer… like for women with really kinky hair. And there I am putting it pretty much all over my scalp.
Anywaysss… that’s probably enough with the fashion disaster thing. Let’s get to the modern-day fashion disaster that I am. When I say I’m a fashion disaster now I mean it in a very different way. I know that I am fresh, fabulous, and fierce. I give myself compliments all the time, because why do I really need other people’s compliments to feel good about my style? I’m serving poor-fem-skinny-boy-gayture (gay + couture) and I leave people gagged.
But that doesn’t save me from the label of fashion disaster. As a boy in America I’m still expected to dress in snoreture. Take a peek in any general male shopping store and you’ll be yawning. But that’s what our traditional, conservanazi (conservative + Nazi) country likes. They want boy clothes to be loose and masculine. Gurl, I got one life to live, so you better know that I flipped my hair right in the country’s face and did my thing. I live in crop tops, skinny fits, the girly, the fabulous, and the stuff that leaves old white straight men staring in a mixture of confusion and intrigue (I see y’all looking me up and down).
Because I’m a fashion-gender-traitor, who embraces his skinny boy body, and isn’t afraid to wear something “for girls,” I am essentially the same fashion disaster I was before. The only difference is that now I’M living for my gig, so those that dub me a fashion disaster can log out, forget their passwords, and never log back in. NEXT.
Stay tuned for photo shoots, outfit break downs, throwbacks, and online fashion gems, all wrapped up in sassy shell. Think of my blog as a sassy fashion Chipotle burrito with these posts as the hot and gooey center.
Oh, and be sure to remember one of my life mottos: anyone that tells you that looking drop dead gorgeous is easy is one lying bitch.