I’m not one for the pretentious mirror clinging photographs. The over exuberance of change room antics and the flavorful boast of the price tag, label, mix and match who-ha. The style in the frontier is not unique but mimicked by the change of season’s look books. Labels lovin’ you off for free advertisement, stores creating warning signs in your honor, “no cameras”. We thank you for the effort but we aren’t loving you off, yet. Your ambition might be in the sales bin, and your ego was written off time ago, and you’ve been top shelved – collecting dust, running your mouth. Your so last season. Things are changing and your closeted affirmations for the plastic and the bedazzled are really completing your outfit. A real prize. Quarter machine prize, with a cherry popping IQ of this plus that equals, what? We’ve forgotten about you. Boom. The closed sign is on, doors locked, locked out, you’ve been shut out, we don’t sell your brand here no more, fake shit – bullshit isn’t trending, you can tweet some other shop and hope that they don’t defend me, and while your shopping around for new ways to get limited, you better just remember that you aren’t a special edition, you’re a combo pack – bundle, hurry give them all away, first one hundred customers, we make sure to get rid of you all the way, and stepping on the people to shove you down their throats, the fast they swallow you the fast they digest, and once they get the digest away well toilet bowl the rest, and no ruby slippers but we sure wish you’d go home, no place like a empty place, get the hell out of the zone. Knock off, bootleg, you sure are kind of pretty, in an overrated use to date her Sally Hansen polished way.
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