and a sun to maybe dissipate

While shopping (or more often, while I am at Banana Republic with my father while he's being indecisive about dress shirts and I've already picked through the rather boring women's section), I like styling the male version of Sophie. A really, really impeccably dressed man is fantastic, and I enjoy picking out the clothes that would make the ladies and/or gentlemen swoon over boy-Sophie.

(This is the same jacket Win wore at ACL, and my thoughts during the concert were as follows: Holy mother of everything pure and holy this is the greatest show I've ever seen and will ever see in my life, Regine is a goddess among human beings, Win is beautiful, everyone is so talented, my brain is crying... DAMN that's a nice jacket)

So if money were no object, I would be the sharpest-dressed man in town. I wish more men took time to dress well (I'm not saying none do, I'm saying that everyone needs to), because people do take notice. I recall a certain time with a certain friend where everyone within a ten-foot radius exclaimed for about six minutes straight, "YOU LOOK FANTASTIC. DOESN'T HE LOOK FANTASTIC? LOOK AT HIM!"

Men of the world (who I'm sure are all flocking to this blog): menswear can be so fun. Make everyone happy and take advantage of it.

(Mykonos: Fleet Foxes)

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