For weeks now, I have been haunted by a pallid hipster, a smooth, concave-chested kid with sparse facial hair wearing nothing but dark-wash mom jeans. Sometimes he pulls these jeans down, mock-sexily, far enough to demonstrate that he is in fact going commando.
Of course, it’s not the kid’s fault: he’s an American Apparel model, subject to the whims of Dov Charney’s perversely anti-sexy sex-focused ad campaigns.
And I can only blame myself that this kid follows me around the internet. Evidently my browsing history suggests to Google algorithms that I am a good prospect for purchasing AA. While this is really not the case when it comes to men’s jeans, I admit that I actually visited the AA site while writing this and discovered that they do in fact carry reasonably-priced baby garments that pass aesthetic muster. I feel deeply ambivalent about what now seems inevitable, that I will purchase some of these garments in the near future (starting with a mystery grab bag!).
American Apparel…le sigh. I don’t have anything to add to the ongoing conversation about Dov Charney’s repulsiveness that didn’t already inform a short story I wrote from his first-person POV several years ago. I’ve hit another frustrating patch with my novel, so perhaps I will bust out that story and see if it’s worth dusting off and submitting someplace. Perhaps that is why the hipster has been haunting me…?