So. I drive an ice cream truck. A Mister Softee ice cream truck (feel free to call me Ms. but not Miss, or Mrs. Softee: I am a divorcee and proud of it.) I park on the East corner of Prince and Broadway Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays where I use my truck as a lab for social experimentation, flavor combination and style documentation. Soho is, of course, a megga nekkaa epicenter for fashion forward individuals and an extremely inspiring place for me to spend 9 hrs a day people watching for pay. While I thoroughly appreciate the direction fashion has taken recently (genie pants holler: trend finally catches up with my obsession ca. 2004) I am currently more interested in styles that range from bland to tacky to costumey to touristy. We can all spot someone with "style" and I am more and more convinced style is not something at all difficult to achieve. According to my 1966 Websters New American Edition Dictionary
style (stīl) n.
1 A manner of doing. 2 A distinctive or especially admired manner of expressing thought 3 (The) fashion 4 the rules for arrangement or decoration
Which to me says "Hey. We all got our style."
What I'd like to focus on here are the happy accidents, brilliant exclamations, or miscalculated but breathtakingly beautiful efforts of the everyman and artist alike as they strive to express themselves visually as the medium prescribed by modesty and tradition conceal the flesh but ultimately reveal the heart.
Oh. And Shoes. My god there will be shoes.
thats a really long sentence for a conclusion paragraph.
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