It got colder as we climbed, and the terrain was desolate. We reached the top of the pass three hours later. While we were standing in a clearing, a guy in a faded T-shirt and torn pants emerged from behind a rock. He said a few jumbled words, and wandered off.
Style can be a fickle bitch. One minute your in it, and the next your not. Those of us who don’t know too much about it, find ourselves hanging out in The Gap, looking for whatever looks newer than the stuff we’ve already got on. However, there are a collect few individuals who actually prefer things that look old, and I’m not referring to what is called “vintage.” No, I’m talking about dragged through a cactus pit, sprayed with a shotgun from 50 yards, and then left at the bottom of a port-o-latrine until some green stuff starts growing on it.
It takes talent (and guts), to find style within damaged goods. It makes people feel special to be different, and if you’re tired of all that new shiny stuff sitting around your apartment looking all good and sh**, then have we got an idea for you. It’s called the style of worn, faded, and distressed , and it has crossed the gambit of many things, such as:
Worn jeans have popped in and out of style for the past several decades, which means you could almost never go wrong. Lime green, bling, and people’s names on your ass come and go, but ripped and shredded stuff lasts forever (until it finally falls apart, that is).
I had to stop reading it, the whole piece was one fearful and foreboding warning after another. Maybe the second? paragraph was little but a recitation of everyone who's ever come to grief in the entire range...it went on from there.