Frisco Fashions

It’s been about ninety degrees just about every day in Los Angeles, so I only packed t-shirts for my trip to San Francisco. I failed to remember that it is significantly colder in the Bay Area and the lack of warmer layers proved immediately problematic. Before heading out to dinner the first night, Phoebe offered me a sweatshirt. To be specific, it was a purple sweatshirt stained with cum. In reality, the white stains were probably toothpaste, but that’s not what people were going to assume when they saw it. I’m pretty free-spirited when it comes to my outfits, but even I was hesitant to wear something purple and cum-stained. “When in San Francisco…” I figured, ultimately resolving to wear it with pride.

That said, my patience for that sweatshirt was limited. The next morning I ambled until I found a thrift store. I was willing to purchase anything warm and cheap. My first inclination was a ridiculous Cosby sweater, but those were $5.99 each, so I searched for something cheaper. And there it was: a jacket so ugly it was beautiful. This hooded jacked didn’t know whether it was a windbreaker or a fleece; it was located in the “husky boy” section, but I figure that’s a pretty accurate description of me. At $1.99, I couldn’t go wrong.

The jacket was the perfect accessory. Even if it weren’t cold, I would have worn it everywhere I could. Plus, it had this awful pouch, in which I stored everything I could find, short of a joey. I love this jacket so much that it’s going to be part of my LA wardrobe, too, once the temperature cools down after all the fires are extinguished.

The last piece of clothing I acquired was a t-shirt. Originally, it was a gift for Kim’s birthday from her dad. His gifts tend to fit into the “it’s the thought that counts” category. In addition to a gift certificate to a hunting and fishing store (she participates in neither activity), she received a set of liberrian-themed t-shirts. You see, Kim is studying to be a liberrian, so she obviously needs several sassy shirts announcing this fact. The one she hated the most was an ill-fitting men’s medium in a shade of yellow that flatters no one. The shirt reads in the ugliest font: “It’s hard to be humble when you’re a librarian.”
If I saw this shirt at a thrift store, I would chuckled and buy it, so when Kim offered it to me, of course I accepted. Moreover, I promised to wear it all day on the day of her party. All of Kim’s worst fears about the shirt were confirmed when I wore it to a street festival. The two absolute most nerdy people in a sea of thousands approached me to talk about my shirt. A socially awkward guy with glasses and a long, frizzy mullet asked me if I was a librarian. “Studying to be one,” I lied. “Do you know Joselyn?” he asked. I made a confused face. “She’s my friend, she’s a librarian, too.” Because, you know, all liberrians know each other. I must have made another critical face because he finally picked up on how strange he was being and apologized hastily and walked away in an even more awkward fashion. The next fan of the shirt was an old woman with a fanny pack who read the shirt and giggled before declaring, “That’s right! Librarians rock!” Thanks, lady!

I’ll see y’all on the runway.