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Dos & Don'ts

As Four and all those faggy fashion designers can experiment all they want. Nobody can compete with the kind of creativity billions of shrill voices screaming into your ears can provide.
VICE Staff
Κείμενο VICE Staff
1.12.04

As Four and all those faggy fashion designers can experiment all they want. Nobody can compete with the kind of creativity billions of shrill voices screaming into your ears can provide. Go ahead, homos, put on a pot of coffee and stare at your inspiration board; this guy is living in a swirling bad acid trip of deafening bass lines and raping babies. His summer collection is literally from hell.

What is this guy, 14? How can someone who's 14 be so much better than us? Fuck, his whole thing is perfect, from the old Sid Vicious neck chain to the new Casualties shirt. The only thing bad I could say about his look is that my dick isn't in his mouth (just kidding).

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There's this new look going around called "traveling-business-lady grunge" and it's making us so horny we feel like running up to them, pulling out our dicks, and just sobbing. If you go from the bottom up, it's like Manolo Blahnik goes to Tampa, then has a meeting in Manhattan, and, finally, ends up goofing with the gals back at their sorority house. That's everything great about all women everywhere.

Check the shoes. This is what we said in the DOs & DON'Ts guide: Stop giving us the ultimatum of "high heels or flip-flops." There are in-betweens. You can wear running shoes when it's hot out or it's a big walking day. If that feels too boring you can always spice things up by putting paint in your dog's hair. But please, stop making us endure five days of flip-flops just because we got one night of heels.   But when we do get heels night, it sure is a treat. Especially when they make themselves up to be a zippy piece of yellow and blue candy that is totally devoted to her friends but is still coming home with you.

You know in the winter when you're wrestling with your coat buttons and your feet are always wet and you go, "I am getting fucking sick of freezing to death, when is it going to be summer?" Well, it's here, bitch. It's here in all its don't-give-a-shit-hanging-around- what-do-you-want-to-do-today glory.   Having a "Live by the bottle, die by the bottle" tattoo outside a liquor store is about as good as it gets. The only way you could fuck up this look is if you had track marks all over your arms and, like, a spider tattooed on your nose or something.

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Never mind the choker (all kids make that mistake), this guy is so devoted to matching, he fucking spray-painted his shoes! What were you doing when you were that age, going through your "hat phase"? Fuck you.   Speaking of color coordination, check out how the steady dollops of pink add a loving thread to the already hugely optimistic gloves and sweater.

Heavy matching is the best thing black people ever taught us.

Oh, for a time when street harpists would shave off their bangs, tattoo two-foot-long jabberwocks on their arms, and carry only a smidgen of Scottish shoe-maker accessories. Way back in, um, eighteen sixty-never.   This woman obviously wants everyone behind her to turn away making that "rwaccch" dry-heaving sound. Is she a diet plan? I dare you to take a bite out of your sandwich while looking at that thing. It's worse than Iraq.

Fucking heroin guys again! Laying around like wet socks set out to dry. Go home, you lazy, lying, boring, constipated, money-borrowing, over-equipped raver. It's not even fun to laugh at you anymore.   He may be going for a male-model-drag-racing-guy thing, but he looks more like a Brazilian (with a level of vanity you could only get from having Down's Syndrome) who got dressed up for a Japanese comic convention.

It's weird enough that every black woman in America spends thousands of dollars making her hair more Caucasian. Now they're using rope? What are you, a cheap doll that Christians buy for their kids to explain what "ugly" means?   These are what the virgins look like when terrorists kill you and then go to heaven. Thanks, but no thanks. Imagine if you blew yourself up and then had to fuck this. You'd be like, "Are you kidding me?" And Allah would be all, "What the fuck do I know? I'm a fag."

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Remember when we talked about women with those blond stripes in their hair and said normal people are doing so much shit to themselves they're becoming punk? Well, guess what? Now we've got these shitty white guys turning their massive slop of hair into fucking cone spikes. WTF? They've got piercings and tons of tattoos…. Back in the 70s all you had to do was wear your pajamas outside to be punk, now you have to have a 40-foot mohawk and rape the queen of England in the ass.

When Dizzee came out with Boy in Da Corner we didn't know he was talking about that guy who rolled up in the club like he owned the place, did two shots of Courvoisier, and went crying into the bathroom to barf like a little baby.   Nothing against fags, but when your entire colon comes toppling out of your ass every time you take a shit, you might want to take it easy on the butt fucking.

A lot of Mexicans are just really lazy, and when you give them money all they do is spend it on booze. If you really cared about this guy you'd give him a job washing your toilets or giving you and your friends a massage.   On the off chance that this guy isn't kidding, we thought it would be smart to put him in here and show you what it looks like when someone breaks 11 simple rules (answers below).

Tucking your shirt in, wearing a gay little bracelet, choker made of coral (two separate violations), more than two buttons undone, sideburns, wrap-around sunglasses at night (that's two more), a mullet, and a plaid headband (shit, two more again).