Like 1 2 3 4…I woke up this morning: put on your happy face. I figured I spend the day with myself on the hunt for a backpack for Miami. I literally threw on some shit, walked downstairs my loft building and tricked my money on a few items…
I’ve been infatuated with this all black moment since Run This Town dropped—which we do. The new thing: look like you’re going to a funeral. We black–we wear all black–black money–I drive a black car–you not fly?—don’t tell mom that your style is dead…
With a schedule like mine I tend to cheat on school with the office. I finally had my rushed photoshoot with Morehouse; Business Man of the Year–sorry I had meetings to rush off to. I promise I’m working on becoming better. But I always find time when style is involved…
As of late I’ve been trying to pull off the next few Art is Life projects–please excuse my disappearing acts…
Join my fraternity; we work hard. We put in the hours–some even take the Marta; all to show up and show out. The marketing interns are planning our first launch party and my man Jordan Dominguez is leading the pack with his rebellious sensibility…
Often times we study the manual on what defines “personal style”, my suggestion–do what comes natural. For me, I just throw on pieces and because my closet is more prep than downtown I rarely have any misses…
You’ve got the look. Call me Prince and she’s Vanity; blush, eyeliner–hush see what you made us do. Erase; I want the shot to come out good for you. Don’t care– we always comb our hair…
My friend’s list of women is very short, matter of fact it’s at zero. I like to be the only one around. And I have my reasons. The guys in my club are big boys. I don’t play with kids–never did…
The first day of class dropped like a Beyonce album–everyone had their promotional ensemble on lock. The girls were out to show you what they’ve been secretly working on…
Attending one of the finest private-black lvy league schools in the country definitely influences style, and I love to resemble a scene straight outta Fresh Prince of Bel-Air and Gossip Girl. We be on that daddy I need five hundred dollars ish, expensive loafers and sporting heritage…