Where the F^ck is my passion fruit lean?


i know CFAvsMBA will appreciate… hope the rest of you peasants do too…

Do actual humans really dress like this?

this guy is stylin

Anon praise ballad.The flyest fuck forever man.Never be a shy guy.BD on the cutaway guy.Oh so fly guy.Really stuntin’ when I dip dye.Caufield on the Pitti fam.Holden down these phonies.I flip scripts.When my blade trips.Vents dip.Twit clips.Post dope dick pics.Breasts blow open.Bloggers Googling my knit slips.Forearms on smash.Showin’ off da mewelery.Head hung low.Ashamed of sartorial tomfoolery.These shades gon cost you.This fade gon cost you.Unfollowing ya boy gon cost you.I get paid for reblogs fool.Pocket square, bracelets, lapel tool.Staying up for days.Basting in the sunshine.Turkeys and sportcoats.Holed up in the lab.BBQing.Bespoke.Babes.Qwerty.I stay sprezzy.Even when I’m by myself.Tigallo for Polo.Even when I’m by myself.I fuck bitches.Even when I’m by myself.

but the rest are a bit hmmm… the narrative on that page seems as though it is one of lockheed’s posts …hahah

are you trying to say that CFAvsMBA likes sizzurp/lean or funky style?

Ay Yo, I just spent 8 seconds scrolling through that website and I don’t know wtf it’s all about? They ought to know that if you can’t get your message across inside of 5 seconds, then you’re doing it wrong.

all of that and more.

I believe they are making fun of many of the pictures, while embracing them at the same time.

it’s poetry

Making it thunderstorm.

Silk squares raining down.

While these skrippers do it with no hands.

Radric and Otis.

Suited and booted.

Ed Greens looking all tough.

Lardini with the tags still hanging off.

Slapping the weave off your baby mama.

If she thinks it’s okay to put her paws on soft shoulders.

Neapolitan trapwear.

Where they do that at?

Dope boys.

Stay doe boy fresh.

And catch a few bodies.

When flat front lames try to front.

Sizzurp match my V-Neck.

Merino match the clique I claim.

Soo woo.

See y’all motherfuckers in hell.

That is a weird website.

Woah, woah, woah.

Hold up, son.

You go to a public university?

The fuck is that?


What does that even mean?

Is that one of those places with tuition cheaper than my high school?

Is that one of those places founded after my family already made their fortune?

Is that one of those places that make you wear socks to class?

Is that one of those places that doesn’t have any pics in the Life Archives?

If it doesn’t have a school boy at JP.

It doesn’t count.

Scarves or it didn’t happen.

Is your roommate some fucking townie?

Who wears sweatpants to parties?


And carries ID on lanyard?


And rocks Adido’s slip-ons in public?

Havi’s by Basty?

What’s his nickname?

Fucking, J-Bone?

I wear cream Wallows to the weightroom.

Squash in 2-inch cuffs.

And talk to bitches about my full-ride blogarship.

But seriously.

The fuck is a public university?

Stylish Mitt:

There is an idea of me.Some kind of abstraction.You look.And you see I’m crispy like some F. Scotty quote.On pointe so hard.My kit is a fucking ballet.Save the last post.But to you I simply am not there.I am not flesh and blood.I am a photo that you re-blog.Giving you fucking goosebumps.RRL Stine.But you wouldn’t know.You’ve never seen real steez.Just my street shots.Just my test shots.Shots with Wooster.On a Tuesday night.You still don’t get it.This is what Tommy Oats was all about.We talkin’ real NYC brick and mortar shit.We talkin’ allegories.We building New Republics.Socratic dialogues back and forth with The Stuntorialist.He stoking that fire behind me.Both us watching you geek out over my fuckin’ shadow.Dancing across your macbook screen.The theory of forms.How Tin-Tin and G dress mannequins.In their bedrooms.So you ordered it all.Tweed vest.Engine turned buckle.The cutaway.Dub sole wingdings.Congrats.You fuckin’ made it.Can’t wait for your twitpic.I have a wife.I have children.I laugh.I cry.I breath the air and walk these hardened streets.I stand naked in the shower every morning.Hot water pouring over me.And I continue to exist.Without clothing.Without servers.Without tumblr.Without #menswear.But I know.This confession has meant nothing.At the end of the day.You still just a blogger.Trapped.Captivated by the flickering images of your RSS feeds.And wearing my clothes.

What I don’t get about hipsters is just how much it costs to look like you have no money.

How do you become a hipster? Also, those skinny jeans make me wonder if there are fat hipsters. No way I could walk/sit in pants like that.