fashion week is just days away, brozenheimers.
everyone beautiful is descending upon this freak ass island and so it gets freakier than usual.
it means i get texts like this from my friends:
"M RONSON, HOUSTON AND 6TH. SO HOT."
but i'm in chinatown and so then i DIE. I CRY AND DIE AND CRY AGAIN. i mean, WHAT?!?
yeah. i can't deal.
and then i go to have a lovely lunch with my friend madhu and the lovey LOVELY nicole and lisa (and boyfs) of the soon-t0-be-opened court, a SICK new store on mulberry and we see THIS:
oh, uh, yeah. just COLE MOHR. male model DU FUCKING JOUR.
(i have already had the pleasure of meeting this young man last winter on the set of this shoot.
he was months away from wearing skirts for arena homme + and dresses for marc jacobs. we just had him in pearls and purses)
BUT I DIGRESS.
listen, i know he is the hot shit right now. but dude is realllllly pushing it with his fucking LOOKS. you can't tell too much, but in his back pocket there is a fucking...like..surgeon's cap.
a moroccan print nigerian street vendor fucking grey's anatomy surgeon cap. i swear to god.
he wore it! it looked like this:
i swear. dude was sitting outside la esquina, drinking margaritas, wearing a hat like this.
i don't know what to tell you.
he also had a fanny pack.
someone's drinkin his own kool-aid.