fuckyeahmenswear:

Betwixt cobblestone alleyways and corner bistros is where you’ll find me.

Manning the fresh cave.

The fortress of steezhood.

The league of extraordinary bloggers.

Who curates the curators?

Storefront looking all nondescript and shit.

Walk in wearing dad jeans and Foot Locker New Ballys.

Walk out wearing selvedge overalls and Japanese New Ballys.

Turning lames into sart superheros like it was my fucking day job.

This is my fucking day job.

Hot in the streets like J. Crew.

But with less collaborations.

Out of your size?

My bad, yo.

We don’t stock anything.

Besides vintage stools and negative space.

You want some white paint?

Benjamin Moore for Engineered Garments.

I can sell you an aesthetic.

Redeem for $150 dollars worth of SuFu cred at a later date.

Looking epic is half the fucking battle.

What, you were expecting the Liquor Store?

Looking all TGI Friday’s with a bunch of shit on the walls?

Fuck outta here, son.

At least pretend you want to get next level.

Charging wack bloggers to snap pics of the shop.

Please check your Goog analytics at the door.

Along with that 2006 point and shoot.

That shit is old as fuck, homie.

Money on my mind.

Danner moonboots on my feet.

Inspiration aint free, bro.

This is the sound of silence.

This is the sound of a Daiki cosign.

This is the sound of my wallet on swoll.

Every day Fuck Yeah Menswear writes this bantering, lamenting, stream-of-consciousness, mid-’90s- rap-influenced poetry, and every day I laugh.