You can’t be in the Grateful Dead anymore.
“Not your decision.”
It is. I’ve staged a coup. Like in Venezuela.
“Topical.”
Seriously, though: you’re out of the group. This is disqualifying behavior.
“You’re telling me none of the Dead ever did fashion spreads back in the day?”
Not one. Each of them walked around like a tatterdemalion.
“Whatever. I have a distinct taste that I like to inject into the zeitgeist. Would you like to discuss the intersectionality of meme culture and streetwear?”
God, no.
“For me right now, what trousers are all about is modality. Of seams. Of cuffs. My wardrobe has to shift and bob weave, and this on multiple planes. So, really, we’re talking about modality and planality. And temporality, if we’re gonna be clothes-nerds about the whole thing, because maybe I’m rocking a bandana from Massive Tongue from 2006 and combining that with a Visvim superbelt from 2012.”
Superbelt?
“It’s like a belt, but better.”
Sure.
CELL PHONE NOISE
“You’re becoming predictable.”
Becoming? These bits ran out of juice years ago. Answer the phone.
…
“You’re on the can with a stylish man.”
“Little Potato!”
“Fuck.”
“Why you not come to Only Korea on Asia tour, bro? Not cool, bro! You hit Pyongyang Stadium! Be epic!”
“Absolutely not.”
“Residency at casino.”
“You have a casino?”
“I build casino.”
“Kim, I can’t play Only Korea. It’s against the law.”
“Not here. You come. Rock out. Green room will be so nice for you.”
“No.”
“Spacious. Airy. Tasteful. Kim Jong-Un pack with skank.”
“Hanging up.”
“Father invent skank.”
DIAL TONE NOISE EVEN THOUGH PHONES NO LONGER DO THAT
excellent use of tatterdemalion!
“Father invent skank.”
Those are EPICLY ugly sandles but I’m definitely liking the socks. And the head band. Heck, I’d rock the toppermost if I could afford it.
Garcia and Bobby did an Yves Saint-Laurent styled shoot for Esquire in 1970. To his credit, Garcia looks extremely sad to be there.