If my response to every long-winded statement you make is to feign agreement with a wide-eyed “well, there you go,” I am probably so bored and uncomfortably trapped by the conversation you are forcing upon me, I am contemplating eating my own face to escape.
Oh dear. Lord knows I love turquoise anything, especially for spring, but I would so much prefer those pants and “urban serape” for me, especially given the way it’s been Bobby Trendy-ly thugstyled here. I’m not saying a dude couldn’t get away with this in Vancouver (probably even some dudes I know could), but I’m on record as digging more the tradstyles ”fuckyeah” menswear, as opposed to sweeping organza Austin Scarlett capes on peacocky fopfolk (with the Kanye exception, of course). But your mileage may vary, especially if you are an actual peacock or if the cape is magic, which is obviously as dope as it gets in the cape world (even for superheroes).
Generally, my rule of thumb for men’s fashion is still: “IF ‘YE WOULD BUY IT, FEEL FREE TO TRY IT; IF JARED LETO WOULD SPORT IT, YOU MUST ABORT IT.”
That being said, render unto mami those sweet wristicles (which look similar to one I already own and have stupidly misplaced).