As you know if you get out of the house like I do, Grand Old Days is the largest one-day street fair in the country and thus the single likeliest spot to see full-body tats, and the results of high fructose corn syrup, Little Debbies and a plastic surgeon who operates a discount breast enhancement clinic out of a strip mall in Columbia Heights. Yah, done and done. But there's enough negativity in this world so these fine people prove that if you squint and try real heard, you can find beauty and authentic style even in a fucking train wreck very nice place.
The woman above, for example, does not look like a ho. She looks very pretty and classy and fresh. As a daisy. [I am a fucking wordsmith]. I love the daisy-doin'-it belt but sometimes she switches it up with a pink belt. She scored the dress at Local Motion in Minneapolis.
I try to represent dudes on this blog but was about to trudge home from the festivities man-free when I saw Paul waiting in line for the porta potties. Is it wrong to ambush someone with a full bladder? I think you can see, the answer is no. When the victim person is rocking tight red pants from Amsterdam with Sergeant Pepper-ish epaulets down the side and crocodilian boots from New York, they oughta be prepared to sacrifice a kidney at the very least in the name of fashion. He was down with it. He likes to wear the souvenirs of his world travels -- hat from Greece, handmade cross pendant from Mykonos (now look below), bike chain bracelet from Loring Park (yes that one, across the river) and the cuff, I forgot. Let's just say Bali. I'm a worthless journalist. Also why didn't I ask about the multi-tongued hot licks t-shirt? Is it because I inadvertantly took a photo of his fly/junk? What would you do?
A completely natural look demonstrated by one of the salons on Grand. Those are feather eyelashes. Just because I can't remember the name of the salon, don't assume that all Grand Old Days fair-goers could give a flying buttwhistle about the businesses and realize that in fact Grand Old Day is a bust for businesses, a really bad idea and burst everyone's bubble and cancel Grand Old Days. Don't do that.
Start seeing flowers, my friends. That's today's theme, I realize. With this happy frock that she got up the street at My Sister's Closet, the sun hat and straw bag, she is saying, "Where is the alcohol in this dog fight?"
She is like, Oh my god, you are so old and that dress is so short, I'm embarrassed for you. Don't worry gangstas, I was wearing underpants. And love love loving her dress. Do you see the off-center buttons? And the print is beyond heavy shit. She got it at a thrift store which, perversely, makes me hate her a little bit because why didn't I find it first? Maybe we could arrange a trade -- I've got some red stretch velvet underpants...
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