I lost the Beard award, but being a finalist nationwide (out of 3) the first time out of the gate pretty fucking much establishes me as a force to contend with in the world of fucked up animated GIFs & swearwords on restaurant websites.
"I will fucking brand your fucking winebar and it will fucking STAY branded, motherfucker!!!" is my corporate mission statement.
A Stefan Sagmeister shaped suit would still chafe and constrain, only a custom StevenSolo suit would make sense. But The Sag would make the most sense as a reference if one is needed here. (While staring at framed, tattered newspaper pic of David Carson on a surfboard and lighting a candle at the Ramones belt buckle of ARTURO VEGA, who donned the luchadore mask while I was still in high school.)
The most important bit of business at the moment is getting my own pair of the loaner silver Nikes I wore, courtesy of a fashion forward friend here in NYC. Friends in Rome are scouring the Eternal City as we blog.
(P.S. Yes, I copped the title for this entry from the Talking Heads. Respect!)
