People absolutely different from me are the ones that I most enjoy taking pictures of. People that, when I talk about my blog, raise their eyebrows saying “do you really like the way I dress?” Then I say “yes, it would be delighted to take you a picture and post it on my blog”. And I’m not being ironic.
If I wanted more of the same (…) I would just publish catalogues from Timberland (don’t get me wrong, I even have a pair of boots) or Tommy Hilfiger (don’t get me wrong, the models are almost as good looking as the ones that show on Ermenegildo Zegna’s windows; if on the first case I recycle the catalogue even before my girlfriend has a chance to touch it, on the second case I always make something up to get me to the other side of the street, so that she doesn’t even know that those guys exist).
If I wanted more of the same (…) I would just publish catalogues from Timberland (don’t get me wrong, I even have a pair of boots) or Tommy Hilfiger (don’t get me wrong, the models are almost as good looking as the ones that show on Ermenegildo Zegna’s windows; if on the first case I recycle the catalogue even before my girlfriend has a chance to touch it, on the second case I always make something up to get me to the other side of the street, so that she doesn’t even know that those guys exist).
Long story short, I never wore a Rasta, at the age of fourteen my father “convinced me” not to pierce my ears and, strangely, I don’t wear sunglasses. All I have is chest hairs, and I enjoy admiring what’s different from me. Why don’t you try it…
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