Fashion For Boys

Nice job uncle Tyler. So Raymi asked me to go to fashion incubator breakfast. I’m like, sure, why not. Croissants and models prolly. Worse ways to spend the morning.

It’s a “non-profit Toronto run org that helps creative entrepreneurs to
develop the business and pro skills needed to thrive and survive.”

Step one – get a taxi there and spill coffee on my inner thigh. So it looks like I had a urine jailbreak.

Now for some gratuitousness. In the spirit of this blog here is an at-home-vulnerable-me-pose. Can’t tell you the significance of the orange ping pong ball…sorry. That’s what it looks like under the patch…sometimes. The eyepatch is like underwear for the face. Curious kitties always want to see what’s back there. I won’t lie. I have made nefarious deals/exchanges at house parties in the back hallway.

Beeline to breakfast table where they have mini-bagels. Acceptable carb intake.

Wider shot to tell the tale. I have little clue about fashion. I shop at Winners and occasionally the Gap when I have a meeting with a client and there is a laundry crisis. To be fair though I am wearing a Hugo Boss jacket. Fits good. You know you CAN mix and match cheap clothes with nicer pieces. It all comes together.

These designers, I think that’s what they are called, are very talented. Its an art. I am not an idiot. I am really listening here. Looking at the craftmanship. But am I real customer? Let me tell you a story. Once when I was in love I bought a little black dress to be like a Sophisticated French Businessman. I spent a lot of time trying to pick the right size and style and everything. We have seen James Bond do this with a lot of success. It didn’t fit and reaffirmed some body issues she had. It was too big. She was a bit short. I said we would get another size. She asked me to leave her alone.

Me: Looking out the living room window. Her: In her underwear, in the bedroom, dress on the bed, crying softly. She was beautiful. I was in love you see.

This woman makes kids clothes. Including stuff for pirate obsessed kids. Which is all kids actually. Not only do people say ARRR when I walk by, the often ask me to say ARRRR. Of course I don’t. I look at them blankly with only the slightest disgust as that would be too much effort. This rule goes out the window for children under six though.

This is Grace Kelly. She is icy and cold yet may chuckle over cocktails. Would she cry if I bought her a dress? I don’t have the answer.

I could photograph models. Easy.

This guy designs bags. He’s a likable fellow. The first shot up there is his manbag that I am modeling. I didn’t cry softly in the bedroom. I guess buying a bag is less fraught with danger.

Maybe if I never bought that dress I would be shopping for this stuff. For our second child. Which might in turn inspire a pre-child birth divorce. Cause we all know that women who are pregnant have even fewer body image issues right?

Awww, she’s not so icy.

I’m thinking I should hire this girl to model my Augmented Reality Eyeborg t-shirt that shoots a laser beam out of an interactive 3D eyeball.

Eyeborg’s New AR shirt in action! from eyeborg on Vimeo.

Sales are slow and that’s why we have models. Eyeborg just isn’t getting the shirts out the door.

Sparseness, fashion, beautiful women, one-eyed fish out of water.

These kind of make sense. They are little ballet shoes you can tuck in, uh, your clutch (?) when your heels hurt. I have been that guy with the increasingly angry girl who has been in heels too long. In our Irish family we have a word when women go like that. We call it “the narrow eyes”.

Kay – so its blurry. So what. These ladies were on Dragon’s Den and they make, uh, like shoe jewlery? I like their style.

Which reminds me of the time I bought some boots for a girl who I was in love with. Hasn’t happened that often BTW. The love bit. At all. I showed her a picture of the boots first – I”m no fool – can’t burn me twice. She said she liked them. Ahah. Done deal. Xmas shopping done. The picture in the ad didn’t show they have squarish toes though. Which “looks middle aged”. No sobbing this time – just irritation. But we were just about to break up so prolly had more to do with that.

Me: Looking out the living room window again. Her: Loudly washing dishes. She was beautiful. I was in love you see.

Told friendly bag guy that his watch was groovy. He says – that is such a straight thing to say.

Me and the bag likable guy hug it out. I give him the double pat on the back hug. I think we both learned something here. Buy some of his bags.

This reminded me of one time I got in trouble with my mom. We were at Marks and Spencers in Ireland, I was only six, and I saw one of those swimsuits with the built in boobs. I was squashing them appreciatively in my hands while she shopped away. My mom smacked my hand and said “No, Robbie.”

Free shit for me and Emer the cool writer girl. Out.