Black turtleneck: I am Judy, the older sister from Doug. I attend the Moody School and think artsy sadness has cultural merit. I am insufferable.
Black hoodie: What am I up to? You’ll never fully know. Maybe there’s a length of lead pipe tucked somewhere in this garment…but what if you challenge that, and it turns out it’s actually a book, Wuthering Heights or something? WOAH. It seems that the street kid you fear isn’t so simple after all. In any event, I assure you that my palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy.
Black leather jacket: Do not question that I like the Ramones. The world is full of bizarre truths that we’ll never entirely comprehend, but the fact that I enjoy the music of the Ramones is a cosmic fact. Whether or not I actually listen to the Ramones in my daily life is irrelevant—what matters is that if you ask me, I will reference CBGB’s and use the word “seminal.” Watch me as I play with this zipper.
Black denim vest: You think I haven’t smoked a cigarette? Think again. You can mostly likely describe me as “puckish” and/or “surly.” Real rebellion occurs within specifically-defined borders. My arms get warm.
Black overcoat: Look, if it were up to me I would be dripping with jewels and shooting lightning out of my fingers all the time, but that is hella awkward on the subway. Instead, I wrap myself in this fine cloak to make sure everyone knows that beneath the surface is carefully-hidden magic which can topple empires. Tarot cards appeal to me, at the very least in a symbolic sense.
Black trenchcoat: Keeping a fifth of gin in my desk seems like a masculine behavior I should cultivate. Tarots cards also appeal to me, though less symbolically. I do not like gin.
Black sweater: Just because I’m wearing black doesn’t mean that I’m not somewhat friendly! Sure, black is a confrontational color to some, but it’s not like I’m one of those people shoving it in your face. Functionality is important to me, as are classic values. Ooh, a cocktail with too many ingredients!
Black windbreaker: The most beautiful pain comes from normal people. Though on the outside I seem put together and somewhat athletic, my moisture-wicking garb actually suggests a yearning for simpler times and a complicated mental game of which only I truly understand the rules. Best I stare out at the river, most notably on an overcast day. Who decides who lives and who dies, I wonder? But that’s all bullshit, because I also have rent to worry about. Perhaps I will have a solemn hot dog.
Black track jacket: Yuriy, Gino, and Chaz are names I have considered giving my son. I am on my way to a family barbecue.