If you’re new to the #menswear game, let me fill you in on the two mainstays that are the death and taxes of this shit: 1. No girls and 2. Old heads bitching and moaning about how you’re an incompetent young fuck. The guys that started these blogs will tell you that they’re here to help you out and take your hand and lead you to the promised land where everyone sits Indian style in a circle around a campfire and geeks about clothing when, in reality, all they do is make fun of new kids that weren’t on everything as soon as they were. They'll incessantly mention in their “ill swift trill OG” Internet language how they’re better than you because they’ve been blogging since preconception. See, you've moved into Cornball City and contributed to an already pervasive overpopulation problem. I fully understand that I’m nothing compared to any of them and have come to grips with the fact that I am nothing but a mere peasant. I would greatly appreciate it if they allowed me to apologize for liking clothing after they already liked clothing.
I apologize for wanting to dress better for my own being. I could never dress better than you, the kings. I’m sincerely sorry for not hitting people with the “flame” because they didn’t know what a specific jawn was. And I’m truly sorry for going on Urban Dictionary to look up the definition of “jawn." I apologize that the knowledge didn’t come innate to me as it did you. For the first 20 years of my life, I had been tying my laces in a Grandma’s knot instead of a Reef and, for that, I deserve to burn in hell. I know you're mad because my buttons don’t function. I've been busy making sure I can function socially and it's obviously taking up too much of my time. From the bottom of my gauche, tasteless heart, I 100% apologize the Internet is not showing you the kind of love you deserve. It’s all my fault and has absolutely nothing to do with your variety of yawnfests that are about as exciting as a Downton Abbey marathon and about as informative as a 1976 nuclear fallout class demonstration. That’s my bad. That's on me. I know that the extent of my tie knot skills, which only go as far as Windsor and four-in-hand, are definitely the reason I’m single. Girls like guys with skills and I have none. You are merciful gods, reigning over W. Houston and Grand, blessing each and every one of us by allowing our existence within the world you have created.
On behalf of the younger generation of menswear kids, let me beg for your forgiveness. We've made so many fucking mistakes. Clothing doesn't run my life and I know that is sad and pathetic. You must believe me when I say that one day I promise I will learn from all my mistakes. I admit that I wasn't on my couch Saturday night laughing at herbs on the Internet because they folded their pocket square wrong. Shamefully, I was fingerblasting one of Madewell’s PR interns in the back of a cab. And that is unforgivable.
