“He smells exactly like the corpse of punk rock,” said one commenter when I posted this on Facebook a few years ago. More comments are below the photo.
I can’t decide where he starts and where he ends. Thank god he doesn’t go for trendy fads. Sad thing is, he’s actually cute.
Don’t those backpack straps chafe on bare skin?
Sorry, dude, I only give out change after the second frost falls.
The double belts make sense—suspenders would interfere with the lines of his backpack straps, and all that metal crap attached to his pants clearly calls for help in keeping the pants in their upright and locked position.
I like the hair. On him, it works. I could never pull it off with such panache.
I don’t want to look at this photo for too long, lest my browser catch Hep C.
Sid Vicious’s grandson?
The extras from “Mad Max” called. They want their everything back.
He is trying. So. Hard.
Obviously with a band. Where they went is more of a mystery.
Justin Bieber’s new backup dancers look like rough trade.
Anybody this conformist (and yes, this is conformist behavior—he has made his entire raison d’etre a statement about fitting a demographic) will conform in other ways too. And some day, he WILL conform in other ways—he will be behind a desk selling car insurance, or running an in-store customer service department, wishing some middle manager with bad breath and a cheesy sport coat would get off his back, and some asshole is going to find this photo and circulate it in the company email or on a public website with his name on it.
He does not roll out of bed looking this way. He was not born this way. This is a major project. And I can’t help but think the objective is to be noticed. So, I’m noticing.
The statement is all like “Look At Me, DAMMIT! Acknowledge my EXISTENCE!”
This is a good old British tradition. We *all* have to pass through this stage until we settle on “Tweed-on-top-leather-knickers-underneath.”