I met an very adorable, fairly young single dad at work today. He looked and sounded like Jesse Pinkman, minus the drugs/murder involvement. He had a daughter with him – 5 maybe – And was frantically searching our kid’s art department for a book on various hairstyles for young girls he saw a week ago, which he had promised his daughter to come back to the store and buy for her.

Father : It’s difficult when you’re a single dad. I’m just learning all his stuff.
Daughter : Yeah – You only know ponytails!

I wanted to shake his hand. I wanted to buy her a dinosaur toy.

I wanted to tell him that he is the kind of person I appreciate walking on this Earth, and that I am sorry for being such a shitty sales associate, because I never did check to see if he found that Klutz book.

Alter-Egos (& Other Strangers)

I have always taken great advantage of personal expression, particularly when it comes to style. And while I was strolling around in an underwhelming crowd of youngsters in my local Forever 21, I realized that I had been neglecting my once charismatic closet, and seemed to have settled for a much more boring, reserved, American Eagle based realm – One which I would hastily set on fire if I were my sixteen year-old, Daisy Chainsaw worshiping self.

My style since high school has gone (rather melodramatically) from: Millennial goth, pin-up goth, new age grunge (Loreena McKennitt meets Shirley Manson), indie douche bag, general preforming arts high school douche bag (“Look at my ragged black sweatshirt stitched with patches of obscure bands you’ve probably never heard of.”), 60’s beatnik, Victorian Duchess, Parisian street urchin (Edith Piaf when she was poor), French hussy (Edith Piaf when she was rich), eyebrow shaven/pixie dressing/experimental makeup addict, feckless greaser, WWII bomb-girl, almost all generations of Tank Girl, and now – Most currently:

Cross-dressing with a dash of 80’s stand up comedian hobo chic.

…Although I want nothing more than to be buried in my worn-out Docs and Kermit the Frog necktie, I think it may be time for another re-vamp. Something new, something exciting. Maybe I will buy a dress – Christ knows I haven’t enjoyed wearing one of those in six years.

The truth behind this fashion-based realization?

I’ve been lacking in confidence. Feeling lost with myself and where I am currently going (or rather, not going) in my life. As ego-fueled and materialistic it may seem to others, creating a new identity can sometimes help lose all the dead weight of your rotting insecurities, and move your life along – In the very least, it will add a little more color to it, and that ain’t such a bad thing.

For me, style had never ever been about brands – I could care less if you shop at Banana Republic (which doesn’t even have one fucking banana in it) or at your local charity shops – It’s all about self-expression.

It keeps me happy. It will keep you happy. At least until the next character in your head demands attention, and for fuck’s sake, I hope it’s a randy pirate.

If so, join me on my ship; I already have the coat:



Stay true to yourself. Express yourself. Embrace the bolo tie.