Hey. American men. Your suits don't fucking fit. They never have and they never will, because you do not understand or appreciate how to buy or wear proper attire, or anything besides over-large wrestling t-shirts and dress socks with sneakers.
You're standing there, on the subway, winking at me like you're fucking hot shit while wearing a blue body/white cuffs and collar combo shirt like it's 1984 and you just stock marketed the shit out of Wall Street or whatever the fuck bank people do. Furthermore, you're wearing black motherfucking trousers with a shirt that's the type of blue that says "I'm just slightly too dark to be robin's egg blue, but definitely not dark enough to be interesting, so I'll just be the most corporate-looking, hospital-issued scrubs color that I can possibly be". And are those actual buttons on a fake French cuff? Where do you even find a lying liar shirt like that?
Are those brown shoes with black trousers, you son of a bitch? The only people who can get away with wearing mismatched shoes and trousers are priests on vacation, because they only have one pair of black dress shoes that they have to wear with everything. No one else gets a pass. I'm talking to you, boat-shoes-and-jeans. Who do you think you are? Hm?
This is not to even touch upon you bitches wearing jackets three sizes too large in the shoulders. Oh, you think I forgot because it's summer and everyone is walking around in shirt sleeves? I never forget. You think you can hit on me in the street while looking like you're wearing your big brother's one nice suit to your First Communion and that won't make some kind of an impression? Think again, dicks! And just because you've foregone the jacket for the summer doesn't mean you can swim around in your giant-bodied dress shirt and think no one will notice because you tucked the four yards of excess fabric into your khakis that balloon out at the pleated front like a middle-aged woman's hips that she used to bear her eleven children. I noticed, and you look like a goddamn fool. Also, hem your trousers, Fred Mertz, it's not 1950 anymore.
I'd like to take a moment now and talk a little bit about ties. If you do not know how to wear a tie, do not wear a fucking tie. If you're pretty sure you know how to wear a tie and think your five-inch wide G.I. Joe print is an appropriate look for anyone other than a 1930s gangster attending some kind of bizarro time-traveling comic con, you are incorrect. If you think any kind of themed pattern is appropriate for anyone other than suicidal high school teachers, you are also incorrect. If you think you can wear anything other than a subdued diagonal stripe, you are probably still incorrect, just let the professionals handle that. I'm talking to you, checkered-shirt-and-paisley-tie guys. You're an inspiration.
So the next time one of you dicks wants to judge another person based on what they're wearing, be it a woman walking down the street in a tiny dress on a sweltering hot summer day, or a little baby-faced kid in a sweatshirt out to get some Skittles and iced tea from a corner store, you take a long, hard look at just what you're wearing and you shut your damn mouth.
No comments:
Post a Comment