Parents found my copy of Fuck Yeah Menswear and confiscated it due to the swearing. I know more swear words than they do.. Got a lot more Sprezz too.

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@littlesteezer
Parents found my copy of Fuck Yeah Menswear and confiscated it due to the swearing. I know more swear words than they do.. Got a lot more Sprezz too.
My older brother just decided to start layering with a denim jacket. Been doing that shit since long before GQ decided it was cool. Fucking herb.
Why the fuck don't Meermin shoes do a size 5? nearly there.
My Cuci cashmere crewneck shrunk. Cop it for 500.
Depends what colour it is man - got most of the colours already.
This kid is nothing on me...
When I heard we were going on a field trip to somewhere secret and dope, I got excited.
It had to be Pitti.
Spent hours picking out my 'fits, so gnarl, so layered.
Miniature boiled wool coats.
Some straight murderous totes in which to stuff my pen and paper.
So, it will not surprise you to learn.
That when it was revealed to the class that we were hitting up a chocolate factory.
I was not happy. I do not yearn,
For peasant snacking.
Standing there in dove grey flannel, splattered with cheap brown confectionery.
I am ready to, a little like my mama used to do, get smacking,
Teachers and trip coordinators.
Other kids wondering 'where the hell the free samples?'
I'm like 'where the hell is Tommy Ton?'
Worst day of my life. Period.
Why on Earth was I not invited to Pitti? Wanted to instacop some Cucinelli...
Hear ye,
Hear ye,
Hear me more clearly.
For I am the son.
The younger one,
In this trinity of steeze.
My dad, the Father, that’s L.A.S.
That cardi with a T look on lock, that crisp parted hair,
This seems sycophantic but it’s only really fair,
To give the man what is due to him.
The Holy Ghost.
We shall call him, Restivo.
Ever present on that #menswear page,
We go, wherever he go,
Resolutely engaging the aesthetic senses of the soul,
From the Isaia lapel pin to his made in England soles.
But enough of this complimenting and time to stop reacquainting
Myself with the assholes of some of Tumblr’s finest.
Because ultimately, I am the younger, the next big thing.
When those older swaggers are at rest,
And the best they can muster is an undone double breast
Over a heaving pair of man breasts,
I will still be a fucking spring chicken.
Organic, free-range. Still pickin’
The finest new clothes,
The freshest ‘fits,
Still getting on those menswear tips
Before most anyone else.
I have seen haters laugh at my minimal stature,
And my supposed immaturity –
Though I’ve still fucked more chicks
And rejected more dicks
Than any of you fronters.
Much like that other famous Son,
My John Lobb dubMonks will shine with Saphir,
Whilst the rest of you, older dudes
Splutter in care homes and tremble with fear
That your nurse may not feed you,
I am gorging on Duck terrine on fresh crafted rolls,
Whilst I consistently achieve my stylistic goals
Whilst wearing artisanal, Neapolitan lapel roll,
Whilst unswervingly swerving like Two Chainz,
And all the time thinking that where Christ had stigmata,
I have well-manicured hands,
And where you have a selfie that may have got hashtagged,
I am getting papped by Chung, whilst nailing an undergrad.
When will mrporter realise they need to start doing kids sizes? #businessopportunity
I may be - just a tiny bit - too old to be hitting up Rupert. But seriously him and his homies have more steeze than L.A.S and the rest of the #menswear crew. In this picture alone I see a red cashmere crewneck, plaid pents, a lot of navy jackets, turnups/cuffs and wack coloured cords. Coming on SkROng.
My older student brother (19) and his mate were talking about knitwear - heard the word uniqlo #peasants. Cucinelli and RLPL ONLY
Discussing #menswear with a mate over some OJ, seems to think Babar is steezy... So unsure... A pretty skrong move to wear a crown...
Mark but this ‘fit, and mark in this
How powerfully well-dressed this minor is.
That’s right, John Donne did write
That ‘Flea’ shit about me.
Or more precisely,
About the way I attend my long division classes
In some rare, vintage, glen plaid cloth.
Yes, me think that the teacher doth
Protest too much about my un-regulation deviation
From the uniform codes that aim to restrict what I can do,
With the space betwixt my two
Fat, full bellied lapels.
And whilst the other boys consistently repel
With their square toed shoes upon which I’d rather not dwell,
I am on another level.
I have mastered all types of lookin’
Crispy.
Like the Salt and Vinegar that I get as my after-school snack,
‘Cept better smelling.
And whilst my peers fuck around with some unbranded rucksack
I am cutting edge.
Strictly, Mulberry document holder.
Within that, a leather bound Aspinal folder.
Within that a solid gold Cartier lighter,
Along with a Mont Blanc, for when I’m being a miniature Marvell.
So next time you see my work pinned up on the classroom wall,
Don’t think ‘Oh shit that boy be small!’
Just remember Scott Schuman waits outside the school gates,
Not to flirt with some MILF who’s read his blog,
But to capture me more times than he’s captured Cortina,
Cause I’m younger, and have a fuller head of hair
Than George C, plus my Lanvin suit – sans socks – is cleaner,
And then within moments I will have been hashtagged Menswear.
Repping the Three Rs – Rollys, Roped shoulders, Refinement.
Always.
So I’m here.
At the pre-school disco.
And all the girls are just sayin’ hello
To my miniature Purple Label contrast collar cutaway
(I was there years before Restivo by the way).
So I’m here.
Leaning against the bar with my ill homies
Sippin’ on some of that complimentary Cola.
Fuck this, not even the real deal
Some own brand, supermarket fail.
A lil like some of the ‘fits on display here.
I see Gap Kids blue denim.
I see surfer Ts branded with No Fear.
I am distraught.
No selvedge, ‘cept for mine.
No Danite soles, ‘cept for mine.
Shit, this happens everytime.
Except woah, hollah.
A fellow 5th grader saunters in.
Lookin’ m-u-r-d-e-r-o-u-s.
But not menswear.
Nu-Uh.’
I’m talkin’ that feather print Supreme snapback tip.
That marled grey sweat screaming OBEY.
And that’s what this boy does.
Demands respect.
I feel ancient, a dinosaur
A relic, an anachronism.
This brother is ahead of the game whilst I linger behind, nuttin but an eyesore.
I look down at the chukkas on my feet.
And they’ve got shit all on his Nike Frees.
I crumple my polystyrene cup – the sound of poverty
And head outside whilst lighting a Camel with a Zippo
And cursing this life of sports coat, white collar, monogamy.
I had my prize giving today.
And they were fuckin' givin' away
All that gold and silver hardware to those who had excelled
In sports.
In class.
On stage.
On that manicured public school grass.
But what 'bout me?
Where the fuck is my prize?
No one awarding and then rewarding me for my Steeze.
No one applauding me for my hardware.
My gold monkstrap buckles.
My silver Rolly I won in a hustle.
On that Submariner tip 'case you ponderin'
And that NATO strap,
'Case you wonderin'
Consistently I bring to school something these peasants ain't never seen.
Wealth.
Two inch cuffs, so big they dwarf my slight frame.
Pocket hanks so poofy they might drown a minor like me of Tumblr fame.
And you know what?
Everytime I spritz, spritz, I stink of success.
No cheap cologne.
Aqua di Parma.
Hermes like the silk print I’m never not showin’
Tom Ford like my peak lapels.
Was the little steezer the most overlooked?
Yes Sir.
And I still am. But I’m still living that life some consider a myth.
And whilst you have seen me, here, consistently riff,
On established themes like dropping rap and chattin’ bout steeze,
Whilst I may be doing something in a Fuck Yeah Menswear vein,
I am an original.
I am a one off.
‘Cause I don’t see anyone else in this goddamm assembly hall in black tie,
Do you?
Today in woodwork all the kids were making birdboxes and shit like that. Me? I was making a pair of fucking shoe trees for my John Lobb DubMonks.
So annoyed I can't find a blue-white-red NATO strap thin enough to fit my Swatch. 'Spose I better get me a Rolex. #Rolexat10