If you’re looking for a way to burn two hours and have it feel like two seconds, fall down a hole on Instagram. That’s what happened last night. I went from Wicked City to Evan Ross’s IG account to midnight in the blink of an eye.
First impressions of Wicked City: warped, demented, some chick stabbed to death in the back of a trunk while blood splattered all over the camera lens? Count me in for next week Ed Westwick, you twisted sister.
Throughout: who’s this guy who kinda sounds like Michael Jackson? Google, google…google, google…Evan Ross —>IG —> over and out.
In between IG and over and out I took a detour back to the ‘nets and Evan took me back to grade 9. Hi crotch droopers, leather jacket and ivory tencel safari vest (religiously worn with the droopers and a grey t-shirt) that my mom probably snuck out of the house in a garbage bag when I wasn’t looking! Like, when I moved out and forgot it at the age of 17.
Thank you, Evan.
For reminding me about the plaid pants I gave away (burn!), reinforcing my love for the drop crotch and getting me off the fence as to whether or not to reinvest in the brogues. Swore I’d never return to those lace-up little devils after burning the soles out of the ones in grades 9 through 12, but that’s what I get for saying never.
Evan Ross, people. Feast your eyes. I swear he’s getting some of his own wardrobe inspiration from his mom’s late pal, Michael Jackson.
Current closet contains variations of all these pieces – his and hers, btw.
Day to night droop = versatility for the win.
Hat on fleek. Unfortch I’d probably have to wear at least a bra to pull this off.
The man knows his way around a leather-sleeved blazer and a studded backpack.
AND he wears these YSL’s. #killme
*Images via The Daily Mail and Pinterest.
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