fitted

This is Wynand Hansen — Christian singer, songwriter,  native South African,  fitted shirt wearer,  Buckle watch/shield rocker,  green shoelace threader,  heavenward hair comber, holy big tat fancier, clean plate club member, recently hitched guy and, apparently, patience practitioner.  The part that interested me most was that he was not a t-shirt khaki shorts flip flops schlubber, thus, a care what he wearer.  

We can all breathe a sigh of relief that I've wrung the last ounce of juice out of that stilted construct. I'm a doner.

party your hair

An absolute rave of stuff going on, all of which make my rods and cones jump around and bump into each other, but what I like #1 best of all is the color of her hair that I'm pretty sure was informed by the Jimi Hendrix ode to parenting in the 60s, Purple Haze.  So I made her turn to the side so we can see the many gradations of color. Yes that is henna on her hand and yes that is my valuable card in the other. 

I don't mean to be alarmist but virtually all of my brain cells have suddenly blinked out like a sad Christmas tree fail.  I think the medical term for this is death afternoon.

rocking the gate

It's rare when someone's uniform expresses any sort of personal style but in this case the full-body black and Mick Jagger 'do give a nice Jumpin Jack Flash impression.  As long as you squint your bloodshot eyes and overlook the Asia Security badge ("They're the best," she says, so hey Asia -- employee of the week?).  

It's not my practice to shoot people whose job makes them vulnerable to street style bloggers and other crazies, but as stated in my last post, my mission (from god) was to document those Block Partiers not wearing the festival uniform of Forever 21, jorts and sweaty feet inside cowboy-inspired boots.  See? Her uniform was not the uniform.  I try to shoot irony.  In the foot.

rebel in a white dress

Flowy white dress with touches of lace, check.  Whimsical wishbone pendant, check.  Little bit o cabin moccasins, done.  And with that, our rebel lands a roundhouse kick to both festivalwear and biking convention.  Showing true commitment to an overlooked color in the outdoor industry,  both her bike and helmet are also white.  I personally was a little disappointed in the black tires, but that's just me.  She and her biking bruh were about to get their fest on at the Basilica's nunsense Block Party, where I had gone to skulk around outside with the scalpers, trolling for people, men or women,  not in jorts and cowboy boots.  I would like this woman's style on a bike,  in a boat,  at a fest,  under arrest ... Sam I am... 'Kay but really,  given the soul-crushing conformity going on round about,  her rebel stance was really uplifting.  She often bikes fully kitted out as above, doesn't worry about mussing this one up because it's just Zara, and has a license to do this because she used to be a musician.  But now she's a real estate lawyer, which she said is a different kind of paycheck mental challenge.

I rudely did not ask the guy anything.

oh look, she has ethnic hair

See, because ethnic means colorful, right?  Or does it mean rayon? At the State Fair, ethnic food is Jewish, i.e. challah bread.  Oy.  Remember the goddess of stone fruit?  That is an allusion to a post several years back in which a woman was wearing harem pants, Hindi sweat pants, and holding a bag of descended testicles that looked like nectarines. If I remember correctly. I dredge up this bizarre story because, again, we find goddesses sporting the spoils of a trip to Costa Rica or Target.  Maharubycrown on the right,  colored her own hair in a semi-permanent state of hotness that is so Run Lola Run... Oh there I go with an ancient reference again. That's the way I roll and these two rule.

someone not wearing fringed chaps at Brookside

Luckily the old orbs were still sending signals to the brain when she and her people seated themselves because I discerned immediately a difference from the locals that keep Brookside Bar & Grill's portapotty economy humming along.  For one thing, she did not jingle when she walked.  It was nuances, my friends.  I know what you're going to say -- Aren't those beads representing the molecular structure of MSP from Harley Davidson's spring 2011 collection?  Oh my gosh, don't embarrass yourself.  No.

She was so darn chic, I felt compelled to get up in her business.  Come to find out, she raised her children in Marine and then moved to Minneapolis where people are less likely to make hemp washcloths and have DIY plumbing.  Having just spent a happy 4th of July on the St. Croix rescuing intoxicated kayakers, she and her people popped into Marine for old time's sake and a bit of commemorative artery busting ala Brookside.  I think, I know, what did it for me was the shirtdress, gathered at the bottom and worn as a shirt not a dress, but the whole scenario here -- a full day with family, in which firearms were not (yet) deployed, sun, wind, water,  acts of bravery -- and her hair looks fab, accessories are still accessorizing, sassy bikini is worn on the inside instead of the outside,  white clothing without ketchup or bird poo on it, a long sleek sophisticated silhouette that speaks more of Mykonos than Marine ...  How does this happen?  Just another glad mystery I contemplate as I scrape the bird poo off the back of my jorts.

Aveda looks good

These two Aveda employees are walking billboards, in the best possible way.  Pretty A'ing chic, no?