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| Accurate representation of how we all felt back then, suicidal, but firmly supported by our boots. |
As if we needed any further evidence that we're really going ahead with this nineties nostalgia thing, iconic Brit cordwainers Dr. Martens have, at long last, deigned to dip their (steel) toes into the fetid pool of fashion. Other parts of your body fashion I mean. They're making clothes is what I'm trying to say. Shirts and stuff.
The nineties, if you'll recall, was a time when everyone wore flannel shirts like this, and we were all beautiful and skinny and dead from heroin and everyone wanted to fuck Winona Ryder very, very badly, and most of us got to. Everyone smelled bad as well, probably from wearing Doc Martens boots with giant lumberjack socks and shredded courdoroy cut off shorts to dusty fields where we watched shirtless barely-even tattooed men with chinstrap beards do surfer squats in front of a microphone. Also we were all walking around with giant, unfashionable pube bushes without shame.
9tz kind of sounded like this only less, you know, new
In short, it was the best decade ever, and not just because it was when I went to school and touched my first girl pee pees, and I'm now viewing it through the rose-colored goggles of misremembered youth. I mean, mostly because of that, but not entirely. We also had, uh... music that meant something back then. Sure, it sounded like it was recorded inside a tin coffin filled with wet turds, but it meant something.
Anyway, go buy these clothes if you want to remember what all that stuff was like. I dunno, man. The system or whatever.
