I have to tread carefully here because this article was written by a freelancer and I don’t want to be mean or to be snarky just for the sake of being snarky as I could with LaMont Jones, who I miss terribly.
There is a fashion article in the P-G today entitled “Pittsburgh Fashion: Layering in Lawrenceville.”
Snippets of interest:
I can’t even pick out snippets of interest because the whole damn thing is amazing. You really have to go read it from start to finish to understand why I’m writing about it. But, let me try again:
The two young writers subscribe to a philosophy of “trash can couture,” which can only be achieved by the most creative of souls.
Mr. McCloskey, 22, is proof that one man’s trash is another man’s fashion. His black shoes and gray pants were salvaged from the trash, and his slate-colored shirt last belonged to a man who passed away in a nursing home. It adds a polished look underneath his white sweatshirt with a CIA emblem. A gray jacket that Mr. McCloskey has had since junior high school brings his eclectic look together.
Now you see why I can’t ignore this article? He is wearing two articles of clothing he personally found by rifling through the trash and a shirt from a dead old guy and it is all described as … POLISHED?! In the fashion pages of One of America’s Great Newspapers?! Would you like to see his polished look?
What she calls polished, eclectic, trash can couture, I call “Raj from The Big Bang Theory.”
This writer, who previously described black jeans and a sleeveless black t-shirt as “savvy” “head-turning” “eye-candy,” almost succeeds in describing what sounds like a homeless guy, as a hipster with his finger of the pulse of trash can couture (I can’t believe I just typed those three words in that order. What’s next? Trash can cuisine?)
What bothers me is how the P-G portrays fashion in Pittsburgh — as either $3,000 of the fuggest, sternest, harshest clothing ever to be sewn together, or some random crap I found in the trash. Why is it either Ivana Trump meets Mad Max of Thunderdome, or drunk guy rolling in his own piss? Where’s the middle ground that says, “You guys, look at this adorable dress over at Mod Cloth that an average Burgher could actually afford and actually wear! How cute and happening and not homeless at all is THAT?!”
Also, if you read the entire article in that beat poet format I wrote about yesterday? It totally works.
“Scarves. Pea coats. Leggings. SCARVES. PEA COATS. Leggings. [snap] It’s cold. [bongo drum] Hand me down. Trash to treasure. Homeless man couture. [snap snap] Addams family. Values. Not a wrestler. Not a wrestler. CIA. Stop. [bongo drums] [drag of cigarette] Go. Rosy cheeks. Double-breasted. But not four boobs. Quizzical. [snap] Stride on. Stride on. Layers peeled away. Smoke curls. My horizon has no beach. [snap] [single bongo beat] [rips head off of a pigeon].”
Where can I find an amateur open mic night, because I have found my calling.