Pop Therapy: On Getting Dumped

Is that beep beep beep of the Dump Truck still fresh in your head? Still got pieces of a decidedly douchey ex still stuck in your teeth and looking for a bone to pick with? Well search no longer and open this sweepstakes because you’ve won an all inclusive trip for the forlorn and unexpectedly single- a pop therapeutic musical safari!!

This is the second installment of the Pop Therapy series, and apparently the shoe is now on the other foot. If you’re lucky, like I sometimes am, and find yourself wearing a pair of those Karl Lagerfelds and needed an excuse for just one last dance down memory lane kicking up your heels the entire way (bang bang!!), well here’s a  soundtrack to set your interpretive dance routine to.

For this self healing journey I unprofessionally recommend bringing your favorite hairbrush to sing and scream into. Let the emotions rise up like an embittered sour dough and then when you’re all worked up and a hot hot mess, enjoy being able to give a toast to the memories. And that’s it. Just the memories because if you and the significant other broke up it was because the relationship was broken to begin with.

Editorial: You, Me & the Urban Outfitters

or, the lukewarm reception this store was met with

“According to demography, this is what a significant portion of my fellow observable 18-24 year olds purchase and wear.” This was the rationale I had in my head when crossing the stone threshold at the recently opened Urban Outfitters that fell in the middle of my downtown earlier this summer. It only took about five months for this Urban Outfitters to gestate- remember that. But there it was, with it’s deceptively humble white neon sign perched atop the sculpted granite lentil. I opened the door to the store to find the number of people inside to be sparse and a cheery “Hi, welcome to Urban Outfitters!!” was promptly communicated at me from a near by sales associate. I reciprocated a responsive false signifier, and made a blitzkrieg for the men’s section.

Fashion: An Open Letter to Karl Lagerfeld

Dear Karl Lagerfeld,

I am so very sick of the weaponry-as-fashion movement that hipsters nationwide have appropriated for their very own. I’ve always interpreted all of those bullet-earrings, hand-gun pendants, and other silk-screened guns on “vintage” T-shirts as a confused fetishization of both capitalism and violence. At the end of the day, though, I’ve always thought: Fine, they can have their violence. If I were to alert them to their problematic gesture, they would probably just sigh, claim said gesture is “ironic” and continue reading Vice magazine through their Ray Bans. 

But high fashion wants the handgun now? You finally drove this “movement” over the edge with those shoes you dreamed up for your Chanel Cruise 2009 Collection.