Fashion and Music as Medicine, or Something

“When people say 'there are other fish in the sea' I say 'fuck you, she was my sea.'”


― Jen Faulkner

It's Saturday, 7:32p.m., still suffering from a shattered heart I decided that lying in bed in fetal position (Just imagine that I am Kurtz, insane, lying on my side chanting "the horror...the horror...) listening to The Boxer Rebellion's "If You Run" on repeat... 

...probably wasn't the best way to spend my night. 

I cracked open my eyes just enough to see my iPhone. I found Daft Punk's Random Access Memories and pressed shuffle (the song didn't matter much because in my humble opinion, the whole damn album is one hit after another). 

I rolled out of my kings sized bed, (boy that thing seems bigger now) turned on the light and began to gaze into my massive closet much the same way we stare at a refrigerator when we're trying to find something to eat. Sixty seconds passed. Then three hundred. It was ten minutes into this little dance when I said fuck it and took a shower. I already knew what I was going to wear and where I was going to wear it. 

An hour later, I sprayed on some Perry Ellis 360 Red, grabbed three cigars,  jumped on my motorcycle and revved my engine extra loud in some sort of act of rebellion-like escapism. 

With Daft Punk playing in my ears (yes, I know that's illegal) I was off to Level 8 Lounge. There I came across all kinds of fashion and the DJ played some Lana Del Rey. Three shots of Patron Silver, a Vesper martini and two Gran Habano cigars later, I was feeling a whole lot better.