Momma said there would be days like this

I've been asked numerous times to tell my coming out story. Until now, I never had a reason to share it, but with the recent passing of Amendment One in my state, I felt it was time. Before I was L.A. Berlyn, I grew up in a small town in Virginia, the name of the town isn't important. I was raised by a single mother who did everything she could to make sure myself and my brother, who had a severe case of Cerebral Palsy, had everything we needed. I was raised to believe that I could do anything that I put my mind to and, most importantly, that love and truth were very important to people.

By the time I was in High school, the thoughts of love and truth circled in my mind as I kept my boyfriend a secret from from my mother and new stepfather. I was exceptionally close to my mother and the thought of keeping everything a big secret killed me inside, even more so when the inevitable breakup at graduation happened and I couldn't tell my mother why I was so upset. After weeks of moping around the house, my mother asked me, yet again, what was wrong. I spilled the truth. I asked her to remember how supportive she was when I had dated a black girl and the town went into an uproar. I asked her to remember that she said she didn't care who I dated as long as I was happy. She put two and two together. She realized that my "best friend" was, indeed, my boyfriend, or rather ex. Then my mother said something to me, I will never forget.

She looked up at me with tears in her eyes and said "Well, how am I supposed to have grandchildren now?" and then laughed. She then went on to tell me that life was going to be harder for me in the town I grew up in. That she was afraid something would happen to me. Her biggest fear for me though, was that from now on, everything in my life would carry the moniker "gay." I could never be the most amazing brain surgeon in the world, because society would label me the most amazing gay brain surgeon in the world. She said she knew I was more than just gay and it upset her that everything else I did in my life would be trumped by the fact that I was gay. She had seen how her gay friends had been treated in the town. She didn't want the same thing for me. She had my happiness in mind.

My mother ended up becoming the adopted mother of all my gay friends as they made their way out of the wood work. She was supportive. She served us all iced tea. She even put on some glitter with us and danced around the gay bar. No one could tell her that her son or his friends were anything but the amazing people she knew them to be. To her, we were people. We weren't different than anyone else, and god have mercy on you if you said anything different. She could be the perfectly coiffed southern belle, but would snatch your eye out in a heartbeat. My mother was loving. My mother was an advocate. My mother was strong. I could spend my whole life meeting new people, but never find someone who would inspire me to be a better person than her.

My world came crashing down a few years later as her health began to deteriorate due to kidney failure from her diabetes. I came home from school and lived with my parents to help them out. I took her to dialysis treatments and sat in cold hospital rooms as she recuperated from numerous surgeries needed to deal with an illness called Calciphylaxis brought on by her renal failure. A month before my mother passed away she sat me down and told me that I should move in with my boyfriend at the time. That she loved him as much as me and knew that we were happy together. Her exact words were, "I can't die happy if you're too busy taking care of me letting that boy slip away. Now, go. Tell him you love him, and when you can get married, get married." The dutiful son always follows his mother, so I moved in with my boyfriend. Two weeks later, my mother passed away.

My mother left me a legacy of strength to pull from. A legacy I didn't think I would need so soon, not only in dealing with my mother's death, but dealing with the surviving members of my family. As usual, funeral plans were made. I made sure she had the dress she wanted to wear, along with sending them her signature shade of lipstick because she said she'd haunt me if I let her be buried in something else, even though it was supposed to be a closed coffin. Cards were picked out, and a discussion of something better than a funeral wreath went into action. The obituary was written. My boyfriend at the time and a few of my mother's adopted gay sons were to serve as pall bearers. Everything was to the tee, until the wake.

My mother's wake was like every other wake. A line of people ushered by giving condolences. The usual crude people giving small side comments when people could hear about my mother's vanity as an explanation of the closed coffin. More comments about the fact that I had the audacity to bring my boyfriend with me to the wake. Most of these comments came from my own family members. Family members, who later came to me after the wake, sat me down, and told me that I was no longer part of the family. That I had embarrassed them for far too long and now that my mother wasn't around, they didn't have to please her because she was dying. I crumpled. My boyfriend threatened to kill the family member. I went home and took a bath, while staying fully dressed. I was in shock. I had locked myself in the bathroom for 45 minutes with a very worried young man on the other side of the door.

The next day, I decided to go the funeral. My step father had no idea what had gone on, and I felt it best that he didn't know. I told him, I had too much on my mind. My boyfriend and the rest of the gays still acted as pall bearers. Then as the pastor gave the speech on my mother's life, I noticed several omissions. My mother went from having two surviving sons, to one. My brother was the only one mentioned. I had been omitted from both my mother's eulogy as well as memorial cards. I no longer existed to my family, but those who knew us caught on. One in particular was a friend's husband, who pulled the pastor aside afterwords and apparently gave him a strong talking to, because at the burial site, I was briefly mentioned at the end. This caused icy glares from my family members outside of my stepfather.

A month after my mother's passing, I moved away and changed my name. I was not allowed to take anything from my mother's home, not even a photograph. To this day, I only have two. I eventually found my way to North Carolina, and until two years ago, I was with the same boyfriend, still having plans on getting married. Unfortunately, as we all know, society is like my family and would rather erase us homosexuals out of the picture. So that dream died before the relationship did. I've also never told my stepfather why, after seven years, I've never stepped foot back in that town. But recently my mother's message of Love and truth for everyone has got me going again. I've spent seven years keeping the secret of why I vanished (supposedly dying in a car accident, as some of my family members like to say,) and resurfaced as someone else. It feels good to get it out in the open -- and looking back, that was the best thing that could have ever happened to me.

Over the years, I've learned that I could be whatever I wanted to be. Whoever I wanted to be. I've worked hard to pull a life together for myself. I've been free to create, love, and live for seven years. I've still got plenty more time to do even more things with what my mother taught me. She gave me the gift of her writing, which I share with you (even if it's about colonic irrigation and the bonehead things I do.) She also gave me her strength to take on anything that comes my way, be it heartbreak or illness. I've also built up my own family and support system. Family is what you make it, readers, and by golly, I've got the best cobbled together ragamuffin family an orphan could ever dream of. A real family, who loves me, because I'm me. I've made quite a life for myself since moving to the Queen City. I've never been happier and fulfilled in my life.

My mother was right about a lot of things. The gay label has stuck with me ever since coming out. This has been made more clear to me with the passing of Amendment one. But if we take that moniker away, I'm just a regular guy, like anyone else you come across on the street. Why does the person I love matter so much to you as long as I am happy? How are you any different than a family who tried to erase a mother's son from her life because he was gay? I can tell you now, passing that Amendment isn't going to erase us. This story will end out the same as mine. We will all rise above it and become better human beings, because everyone needs truth and love, even your bible tells you so. Plus, my mother told me I could be anything I wanted to be as long as I put my mind towards it... and yes, dear readers, that includes being in love and being married. I plan on making her really proud one day.

Nifty news for readers:

Click! Flash! How to work with photographers.

Hello Lover-muffins, it is I, L.A. Berlyn, back with another collaboration with Image Maker and Famous 4 Nothing. As someone who spends 50% of his time in front of a camera, 30% behind the scenes, and 20% writing about climbing the steep walls of fabulousity, I was the perfect pick to write on this topic. That's right, I'm giving you lovely readers the dish on working with photographers. Be it for your modelling portfolio, family portrait, event souvenir, or for the sheer glamour of being in front of a camera, I've got you covered.

Now before we get into the real dirty dirt of it all, you've got to ask yourself several questions. Why do you want to work with a photographer? Is it for art or documentation? Are you photogenic or at the very least, camera ready? Do you realize that, even as a popular subject to photograph, you will probably have to pay for your images? Once you have the answer to all those questions, you'll be ready to hit up the harder stuff, like how to find a good photographer and whether or not you should strip down for a picture. As most of you are the die hard fame seekers looking to make a name for yourself, we'll cover event photos first.

How do I get my picture taken at night clubs?

Should you live in a town like Charlotte who has a rag, like Creative Loafing, that posts pictures of nightlife in print and online, grab a copy of it. Analyze the images, figure out which hot spots are featured most, who gets featured, and who took the pictures. Now before you go running off to the hippest disco featured to get your picture taken know this one very important rule: Never go up to the roaming photographer and ask them to take your picture! I can guarantee that your picture will not run. I'm paraphrasing Charlotte-based photographer, Austin Caine, when I say that those lovely roaming photographers are out there to snag pictures of interesting people who are caught up in the moment. People who look like they are genuinely having a good time at the event. That being said, take my advice, wear a look that fits the brand you have made for yourself and have fun. Photographers are more willing to snap away at individuals who are wearing something eye catching, are unique, and seem pretty damn cool, rather than the sad drunken girl who slurs "Takes me pishture!" Unless, of course, she has an exposed nipple, but I, nor the rest of us at Image Maker, Famous 4 Nothing and The Handsome Savage, suggest this. Save the nudity for art shots and when you're sober.

[Check out some Event shots taken by Austin Caine in my Snug Harbor review, here]

What about taking nudes?

First, and foremost, if you are under age. Don't you dare. You are not Brooke Shields, and something better come between you and your Calvins! If you are a professional model and are pressured into this, know that this is not part of your contract and you should not be asked to do it. Now for you grown fame seekers, nudity isn't something to step into lightly. You don't want to go Full Monty for just anyone with a fancy camera. Find a reputable artist you trust and feel comfortable with. I, personally, have shed the clothes for the sake of art, but only after fully researching the artist, seeing his work, how nudity is applied to his trade, and only if I am fully comfortable with the photographer and where his work will be exhibited. If at any moment you feel creeped out, pressured or uncomfortable, follow your gut feelings and say no. You don't want these to come back and haunt you.

How do I know I have a good photographer?

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and that opinion is up to you in regards to the look and style of photographs you want to have taken or be a part of. Finding a great photographer is easy with such a digital network out there. Do some research, see what's in local publications, who have friends or family members worked with, what's been put out that you really enjoy seeing and want to be a part of. Grab your friend in the art world and have them make suggestions. Grill your makeup artist, hair stylists, and wardrobe gurus for who's hot. Chances are they've worked with at least one of the photographers on your bucket list and can give you the scoop on whether or not you can work with them. Once you've got enough names, start Googling them and look at their work. Pick the ones you can work with, who have a style you like the most.

How much is this going to cost me?

Unless you are a paid, booked model or have an agreement with the photographer (such as a look book collaboration.) You will always have to pay for your images, even if you are the artist's best friend. Never pester you dear photographer friend to take your picture for free. Never assume that the photographer's time and talent isn't worth being paid for. You get what you paid for. Prices will vary depending on the services rendered, you may also have to figure in the additional price of the makeup artist and wardrobe stylist if those are provided as well. Make sure you've got a good agreement that fits your budget before you sign your contract. As a side note to aspiring models: Your agency should never require you to pay a cent upfront for photography that they have hired. Part of the commission that is taken out of your pay covers the prices charged for your initial head shots and comp cards. If you are asked to pay in advance, darling, you're being scammed. Turn around on your little stilettos and walk out of there as quickly as possible.

What do I do once I book a photographer?

Once you're booked, always show up on time. Let me repeat that for those of you that weren't listening: Always show up on time, and show up no earlier than ten minutes early unless requested for styling. Unless you have a makeup artist or stylist with you, you're doing it on your own. Grab your model bag full of everything you need to go out. For those of you not in the business: Make sure you've got your makeup and hair done (carry the makeup used with you) and have a selection of outfits for you and the photographer to choose from. Be prepared, because the more you make the photographer wait for you to get dolled up, the less time you have for your photo session.

It's also good to practice poses before you go in front of a mirror. This will let you feel a little more comfortable with moving your body. You'll also learn what positions make you look taller, slimmer, or just better in general. While your photograph is being taken, listen to what the photographer tells you to do. The poses you practiced and admired may not be what they are looking for. They are the ones peeking at you through the lens and they aren't going to get you do to something that will make you look horrid. They know the placement of the lights, how you look under them, and what's going to make you look the best. Both you and the photographer are only as good as the last photograph they have taken, so keep that in mind before you start complaining about your "bad side." Also keep in mind that models, professional and aspiring, who take direction well or need little at all are frequently booked again for future projects. This may lead to more work for you and, at the very least, give you a good review on the lips of the photographer.

And what about afterwards?

Once you've got your images, use them to your advantage, but always credit the photographer who took the images, even when posting them to Facebook. It only takes a few minutes to tag the artist. Keep in mind, fame-seekers, that tag also links that wonderful image of you to them. When people find the image beautiful, they may want to look up the models in the shot, thus giving you more coverage as well as promoting the great photographer you just worked with.

How do I get hired on as a costumer, makeup artist, hair stylist, or prop designer with a photographer?

I hate to burst your bubble darling, but it's all about reputation and word of mouth. Your work has to be top notch to be considered as a hire-able artist. If your just starting out, break out your portfolio and hit up the photography schools near by. Students are always willing to collaborate with others to produce the best images for their own portfolios. Try and work and agreement so you get a copy of the work as well instead of getting paid. Together you two will build a great portfolio and option off more chances for each of you to get booked. Sometimes you have to work for free to get your name out there. Word of mouth is everything so make sure you're on point each and every time.

As for me, I lucked out. With a former model and amateur photographer as a mother, I was thrust into the world quick and early. I've also made a name for myself out of crazy looks and editorial styling through my own collaborations with clients, photographers, and other artists. I've been brought on as both a makeup artist and costumer by a client independently from the photographer and made connections through this method. It can be a crap shoot, or luck of the draw, as some people call it, but check with your photographer friends too. If they know the type of work you've done, you'll be a shoe in for collaborations with them. As I mentioned for the models, be professional, be on time, and be able to produce your looks and props in the time frame you've stated.

Now, fame-seekers, I haven't given you all the tricks of the trade. In reality, I've only touched on a few major points that you should always keep in mind. Use these tips to your advantage, make a good name for yourself, and create beautiful images with wonderful photographers. Be sure to keep me posted on your success in the comments section or sending me messages on my personal site geewhizzbang.com.

The "I can do that" Guy

Dear readers, as most of you know, I like to try my hand at everything. My mind is constantly rolling around new ideas for projects and things to do. My goal in life seems to be to try and figure out out things work, how they are made, and then do it myself. Call me a product of the DYI generation, if you must, but I can't help but think "I can do that" about 30 times a day. I'm not saying that that statement is always true. There have been times when I've attempted something and failed miserably at it. Take for example my attempt at making those crazy Praying Mantis shoes Lady Gaga wore, or any time I've tried to cook something, for that matter. In my mind at least I gave it the old college try. Even after attempts have failed, the mantra still repeats itself: I can do that. I can do that. I can do that.

As much as I like showing off what I've created, it's caused quite a backlash in my personal life. Take me shopping and everything I come across I say, "I can make that, and I can make that for less than $400!" My home is filled with pieces of furniture I have reupholstered, refinished, or combined and changed entirely. My own personal art pieces (though they may not be the best,) are dotted through out. I wear my own customized accessories and clothes. Friends carry my custom handbags, wear my jewelry, and decorate their homes with my creative binges. I do everything I possibly can and sometimes it inspires people, but that's actually the draw back.

"I can barely draw a stick figure and here you are reupholstering chairs while you sew a dress and sculpt faux deer antlers out of papier mache. I wish I was creative as you," they say. As soon as these words fall from their lips, a chill runs down my spine. It's as if they said, "I wish I was a one-armed Pygmy about to be shot by a gaggle of nuns." I assume it's akin to someone with naturally curly hair being told how awesome it must be to have curly hair. The gal with stick straight hair doesn't know all that goes into making sure those luscious curls don't turn into a Brillo pad. The not-so-crafty person doesn't know what goes with being an "I can do that" person, either.

You have no idea what it's like being labeled a creative person, especially someone who's an "I can do that" person. As an "I can do that" person, you can't just sit and watch HGTV. The minute an episode is over, you're off to Home Depot or Hancock Fabrics, because you've just got to try your hand at a vegetable garden or, perhaps, installing curtains you've sewn yourself. This is how your mind works. It's always on over-drive.

For me, the mind never stops. I lay in bed, trying my best to get some sleep, but all I can do is think up things to make or try until I hear birds singing or see the sun rise, which I must get up and photograph, because the coloration is just too beautiful. It's like my mind lives inside a Japanese schoolgirl's back pack. Everything is an inspiration. Everything is beautiful. Everything is possible.

To try and combat my brain's affinity for a creative life style I started toting around a mole skin everywhere I went, and boy do I feel sorry for them (and my storage closet, which holds a box full of them.) Looking inside one of these things is a glimpse into a madman. Sketches of costumes and makeup ideas rest between mock ups for website layouts, ideas for blogs, really crappy poetry, and the occasional shopping list. Note to self: Buy another Moleskin and you're out of shampoo.

Sadly, this doesn't help. I find myself revisiting these journals and elaborating on these ideas, pretty soon I'll need to hire an assistant to cross reference five years of doodles and thoughts. So what's an "I can do that" guy to do? What do you do, dear readers, when your mind is flooded with ideas? Do you keep a journal like I do? Perhaps, a sketch book? Am I going to eventually be forced to sell my body on the street in order to support my notorious hot glue gun addiction?

Let's hope not. I don't want to go down that road, (again,) so share your ideas with me. Tell me how you get your ideas fleshed out. Tell me where you get some of your inspirations (perhaps on my tumblr?) Tell me that you've liked The Handsome Savage over on facebook and checked out my site, geewhizzbang.com.

Until next time, dear readers!

F U L.A. Berlyn!

The other day, a nice gentleman came up to me on campus while I was waiting for Lula to get out of her speech class. I should've known by the sharp clacking of his Italian shoes that this wouldn't be a normal conversation. Despite my accidental, degrading "I'm better than you" look I give to everyone, he struck up a conversation. He, however, was smarter than everyone I've come in contact with. He got my attention by telling me how wonderful I dressed*.

It seems this man wanted to tell me about my campus' fashion club, well potential club. They hadn't gotten an approval yet, but had over thirty people who were interested. They were going to get together and discuss fashion, have runway shows, give makeovers and try their best to give our campus a fresh coat of Louis Vuitton inspired paint. Would I be interested? Fashion club sounded about as useful on my campus as the R in February, but I said yes anyway. He didn't have a sign up sheet, so he left to go get it. Before he came back, Lula got out off class and we walked off, not particularly holding up for the mysterious, fashionable, young man. What can I say? Lunch time was calling and ice-cream beats a community college's fashion club any day. Right?

This has, apparently, pissed off the fashion club. [Cue thunder clouds and heavy amounts of shade.] How dare someone like me snub them? I mean, who do I think I am, a fashion columnist? Their response has been to give me stink eye each time I walk passed them. I feel as if I'm in some crappy movie geared towards high-schoolers. I've even thought out this movie scenario.

Picture it, dear readers:

I'm an orphan taken in by the lovely Lula Lemon. For this movie, we'll say she was my mother's best friend. I've entered college, with the same level of intelligence as a ham sandwich. My stupidity is only tempered by my mad wardrobing skills. I make a few friends in my interior design classes. Then when I get some sort of normalcy in my life I get mixed up in the wild world of fashion club. They tell me the first rule of fashion club, is there is no fashion club. Hilarity and sadness ensue as I lose my friends and devote myself to Donatella Versace. Lula begins to worry about me when she finds me awake at 4am sewing dresses from vintage vogue patterns. We have an argument and this cuts to a scene of me walking in the rain, browsing shop windows, where I have an epiphany. I create my own fashion club, where my former friends are all invited. We all make up and have a runway competition, judged by none other than Dolly Parton. We win, the balance of power is restored, we all become friends and everything is tied up neatly with pink satin bows.

I feel like I have an award winning movie on my hands, but in real life, however, I could care less. I don't want to give people make-overs.Despite working ten years in the fashion industry, I find it absolutely rude to go up to a complete stranger and say "I'm going to give you a make-over." What happens if due to our current economic climate all they can afford are sweatpants and stretch jersey tops? Maybe they feel wonderful about themselves, and then they were swarmed with bitchy gay men who tore them apart. They would only be left with the tiniest shred of dignity, composed only of a half-hearted compliment about their choice of bangles and hoop earrings. I'm not into that. I don't really care what other people are wearing. Sure I may make snide little comments under my breath, but if they aren't walking around with me, it isn't my problem. The only time I care is when it's a friend I'm going out with. We can't clash and one of us can't be dressed to the nines while the other is wearing farmer clothes. It just doesn't work that way.

Then there's the problem of foisting my own fashion ideas on someone else. In no way would I try to make someone dress like me. My style is solely based on what I like at the moment. I never take my fashion choices seriously, I just don't want to look boring. My look doesn't work for someone who's not relatively thin, short and possibly a basket case. I hardly doubt that I'm going to find someone else who's pocket-sized putting on a public display of insanity, unless I ran into Amy Sedaris. So why on Earth would I want to be part of Fashion Club? Just because someone thinks I look nice? If that was the case, I would've joined a cult by now, they keep knocking at my door. Sure, I might need new friends, but at least I would've gotten a lovely paper flower and a new name from the cult leader, maybe even a semi-automatic weapon. The fashion club, much like a cult just isn't for me. Sorry, Fashion Club. I have more important things to do, like write that script and option it off to that gay kid on Glee.

NOTES:

[001] White denim pants by Donna Karen; a black, fitted polo; Italian loafers; and a seer sucker jacket casually draped over my arm in case I got chilly.

Take my advice...

Dear readers, have you ever found yourself hoping that what you're doing can be considered sexy in anyway shape or form? Well, that's where I found myself a few weeks ago. On this particular occasion, I found myself artistically propped up on a sofa. I was smoking a cigarette; I was waiting for a certain gentleman to get out of the shower; and I was naked. Now, I'm generally not the type to do this, but I'd been reading a lot of those "perk up your relationship" books lately, and, well, I was brain-washed into thinking this was a good idea. Never mind the lump in my throat and the fact that I was shivering, this was exciting. Who could resist me? Apparently the boy I was waiting on. His reaction, wasn't exactly like the book said it would be. If I remember correctly, he laughed... and possibly mumbled something about being glad he opted for having the sofa scotch-guarded, but I couldn't really hear over the volume of my embarrassment. This whole ordeal just left me wondering exactly where I had gone wrong, if had I gotten too cold*, and why exactly did I listen to a book geared towards people in failing relationships?

Sadly, as most of you know, I grab on to the weirdest bits of advice whether they're good or not, especially when it comes to being sexy. I need help in that department, so I grasp at every straw to try and make the whole "sex sells" thing work for me. If it's a bad idea, I've probably done it.

I've gone to nudist events to try and discover the beauty of my body. I've even got an awkwardly purchased sex toy packed away somewhere in my closet. Don't even get me started on those sexy boudoir photos lonely housewives give to their partners. On one or two occasions, I've bought the most complicated underpants you can find to add a little oomph to my wardrobe. Let me tell you now, nothing is sexier than crisscrossed straps digging into the only fat parts I have and by all means, please catch on to the sarcasm dripping from that statement.

Try as I may, the art of being "sexy" has always been lost on me. I can't help but make a fool of myself. The thought of Cathy Bates wrapped up in cellophane in Fried Green Tomatoes always pops into my head when someone suggests that, indeed, I should try to be sexy. It's just not in my cards, but yet, on occasion, I come across some poor sap who wants to tell me I am. I think it's the photos we use to market me. There I am, all sprawled out in nothing but a fur coat and underpants... to me it says "You look ridiculous," to some it says "Hey, that L.A. kid is pretty sexy." I feel sorry for those people. If they only knew what lurked behind that picture.

I'm too awkward for sexy. I'll bump heads with you when I try to kiss you. I'll think the opposite when you flirt with me - if I even realize you're flirting with me. I can't even talk dirty with a straight face. Let's face it, people like me can't be sexy. We read too much. We can't stand anything remotely close to exercise. We haven't even contemplated laying in a tanning bed or, worse, getting one sprayed on. However, that's okay, because you can take my advice on two things: 1. Someone, somewhere, will find you sexually appealing; 2. Surprising someone with full frontal nudity while sitting on their couch is probably not good advice.

How to be a style icon

For those of you who live in Charlotte, you've seen the free rag about town, Creative Loafing. Some of you, like me, where excited when they mentioned the upcoming style section. I'm sure most of you couldn't wait to see what a diverse city, like the Queen City, had to offer.How

ever, with the exception of two girls and one guy, each subsequent issue has continued to show the same tired, "eclectic," thin white girls who come a dime a dozen in Plaza Midwood. The style stalker has been the "who's who" of Common Market since the style section debuted.

I'm not exactly sure where the mix up happened. I know several of the contributing photographers, and they're exceptionally talented. I'm starting to put the blame on the style section's editors. So before they wake up and realize that featuring "hot trends" which flooded the market over two years ago* (and trickled down to K-mart specials) isn't a goo
d idea, I figured I'd post up the best way to get yourself featured in Creative Loafing's style section. So pull on your leggings and grandma's ratty old stole, because we're gettinng you immortalized in print, dear readers.

[001] Head gear.

Fedoras, Stingy brims, pork pies and sequined berets are all the rage on the Style Stalker. The more absurd and unrealistic, the better. Why not pair a vintage suit with a Sherpa hat or attach peacock feathers to a pill box hat? The hat is necessary to cover up the beginnings of dreds accumulated during sleepless nights spent drinking flavored beer and writing Beat poetry instead of practicing proper hygiene.

[002] Raid Nana's attic, or better yet, pay top dollar at your local vintage boutique.

Since most of us are from the South, Grandma has got to have some excellent vintage party dresses from her days in cotillion. Skip those. What you're looking for are Grandpa's smelly, moth-eaten cardigans and nubby wool blazers. Anybody who's anybody in Plaza Midwood is grasping on to Grandpa Chic with a vengeance. So should you.

[003] Pants or no pants, that is the question.

If you aren't wearing skinny jeans, you aren't awesome and you'll never get into creative loafing wearing those tailored trousers you're so fond of. When purchasing your skinny jeans, it's best to go down a size than you would normally wear. If you can't see the hair follicles on your nut sack, you're doing something wrong. Let's take it a step farther, shall we? Skip the skinny jeans all together, and just wear leggings*. Sure they're meant to be worn just like pantyhose or tights, but why can't they be pants? Women can benefit from these lycra wonders in winter time by adding a certain flare to otherwise boring cut-off denim shorts you'd have to pack up when the leaves started falling. Men, you too can hark back to the days of 70s glam rock by sporting pantyhose too. If it's good enough for David Johansson and Ziggy Stardust, it's good enough for you. So, quickly, nip on down to American Apparel and purchase them in every color and pattern possible!

[004] Plaids and stripes? No problem.

Nobody likes things to be too matchy and put together. Charlotte style is all about being unique, so it's very important to look just like everyone else. This includes pairing items that wouldn't ordinarily go together, but you know what? You're a style icon, and nobody can pull it off like you do! Fashion trends come and go, so why not pair them all together? Stripes are kinda like zebra print, if you squint hard enough. Florals mixed with polka dots can add a touch of whimsy to any attire. Give it a try and the camera will love your juxtaposition.

[005] I geek, therefore I am.

The de rigeur item for anyone who's clamoring to be in the pages of Creative Loafing is, of course, a pair of nerd glasses. Any glance around the Common Market will let you know that either A. Buddy Holly has more look-a-likes than Elvis, or B. Everyone's eye-sight has gone to pot, but that's what fashion is all about: the unconventional. Take the geek-chic a step farther and pop in a pocket protector full of retro-inspired pens you bought down at Urban Outfitters.

[006] Speaking of Urban Outfitters.

You can't put together a photo-worthy ensemble on thrift store finds alone. You need to spice it up with ironic teeshirts about bacon, or perhaps velvet skorts, feathered headbands, faux-vintage Lynard Skynard paraphanelia, and, as you should know, something ironically emblazoned with a unicorn or tiger. You can find these items, and others like you, in abundance at Urban Outfitters. Make sure you're wearing at least one piece from Urban when your photo is taken and be sure to recycle your Urban bags by using them as an all-purpose carry-all.

[007] Get deep, really deep.

Plunging necklines for all! Leave your shirt unbuttoned. Show the girls (or your bird-chest if you're a man) especially if they're tattooed. Nothing says Creative Loafing like a brightly colored visible bra, be it in the cleavage or on your back. And guys, make sure your V-neck is so deep, it understands transcendental literature and quotes the I-Ching, if you want to be featured.

[008] These boots are made for walking.

It's always good to put yourself in someone else's shoes, especially when you've paid a dollar for them at Value Village and spray painted them silver. Nothing says I'm here for the party and the PBR quite like cowboy boots with shorts. Actually, just revert back to your childhood and wear cowboy boots with, well, everything. Don't have cowboy boots? Hit up The Rat's Nest, or go old school with combat boots or boat shoes. If you're a lady keep to the flats, but only if you wear lace-trimmed ankle socks with them.

[009] Live out your inner Cruella Deville by sprinkling your wardrobe with fur.

Now before you get all "what about the environment" on me, keep in mind there are tons of faux fur options out there for you animal lovers. Boots, hats, vests, coats, and, yes, on occassion, pants can be decked in fur. Nothing is quite as luxurious as polyester filament, unless, of course, we're talking about Grandma's old shawl made out of sewn together foxes with rhinestones for eyes. Remember, dear readers, it's cruelty free if it was before PETA came along.

[010] Fashion is like cake, it should be layered.

Now that you know everything you should be wearing, you should put it all on at once. It doesn't matter if it's 98 degrees outside, you can't be fashionable if you aren't wearing layers. Think about it, no one is going to notice you're sweating -- it's got four layers of fabric to go through before you look like you're in the muds. Scarfs, jackets, vests, jewelry, gloves put it all on. Chanel always suggested removing one accessory before you left home, but what does she know? Was she ever in Creative Loafing? I think not. I know everyone featured in the style stalker wouldn't be caught dead in Chanel, well, not unless they found it at Goodwill.

DISCLAIMER:
This is pure satyr. The Handsome Savage does not support Charlotteans leaving the house in such a manner. We also would like to acknowledge Creative Loafing's attempt at a style section. We know it's just starting out and, sadly, gets pushed aside for more "important" articles about things like the best waffles in Ballantyne. We just want you to broaden your horizons and take a fresh look at things. Maybe bring in some outside sources once in a while. Shake things up.


NOTES:

[001] Articulated owls, feather and fringe earrings, cowboy boots, fedoras, and modern vintage looks are not fashion forward or a "hot trend" when you can have grandma skip down to Walmart -- in her purple velour track suit -- and grab it all in one go, without making a mistake.
[002] Your leggings, and even stockings, should be artfully ripped to expose bare skin.