Though this post is something like a week-and-a-half late (woops), as someone who still proudly relies on the distorted immigrant notion of time, it certainly is safe to say that it truly is better late that never, especially when you’re black. With that said, last week I had the immense pleasure of attending the Montreal H&M x Maison Martin Margiela pre-launch shopping event. As my first time being invited to a VIP soirée of any kind, I simply couldn’t help but feel like I had finally made it. To what exactly? God knows, but all I do know is that it sure did pretty swell at last having all my efforts in being a fucking black hipster be recognized and rewarded by adult hipsters and totes “artsy” people of the like.
When you consider that I now live in Montreal, a city that is literally infested with an innumerable quantity of pretentious camouflage-donning, PBR-drinking, #seapunk-loving hipsters, the fact that I, a delusional 17-year-old who spends his Tuesday nights watching (and totes loving) Breaking Dawn: Part 2, still managed to receive an invite before them all is quite astounding. Though I was only permitted to attend the pre-launch as an unofficial and rather last minute +1 (minor details), that shit still remains cray.
Consequently, I now know that, when you lower your aspirations enough, hard work can definitely pay off.
As much as I hate to say it, I had no choice but to up my hipster-ante in terms of what I would be wearing to the event that clearly commemorated my debut into the cocktail-sipping, (shitty) hors-d’oeuvre-eating universe that fashion soirées represent. I mean, as a Gaytineau-native, it was only normal that I test the grounds simply to see how eccentric the Montreal “fash-pack” could be. Naturally, when in a metropolis as culturally diverse as Montreal, everything must be done bigger, better and more pretentious. Like, this ain’t Ottawa no mo’ where there were such things as Ottawa “models” and Ottawa “Fashion Week” (hahaha #burn). Accordingly, out of both laziness and true fashun-induced, existential-crisis distress (but mostly laziness, let’s be honest), I saw myself obliged to turn to what has rapidly become my self-professed signature, go-to outfit when I want to make a statement on how ironically Canadian I can totes be when I get my hipster-via-cultural-immigrant-vibez juices flowing: the infamous Canadian Tuxedo.
Despite my passionate love the look, it’s rather lamentable how it has totes become the “Watch out, we’ve got a badass over here”-memeworthy outfit for bloggers and fashion editors alike (it’s pretty much on the same level as “mix-n-matching” various fugly-ass prints to form a look that’s only cohesive in how fucking hideous it is). Thankfully, because of the antithesis the Canadian Tuxedo represents when worn by yours truly (do black cowboys even exist?), I’ve clearly been able appropriate it as my own through many an Instragram and FB mobile upolad. With that said, it was only natural that I ignore my contradictory #bloggerlyfe-induced qualms, and pursue my original intention of being a totes ironic black cowboy simply for the lulz. Either ways, I simply could not say no to pairing a Canadian Tuxedo with mustard pants seeing as the idea for the outfit had magically (I shit you not) appeared to me in a dream. Call me crazy, but it seems I’ve inherited vampire-bitch Alice’s clairvoyant skills except, instead of seeing into the future during urgent life-or-death situations, I can tell how fucking awesome an outfit will be. If anything, that’s my skill, and I couldn’t be any happier.
When it comes to the actual H&M x MMM event, to be quite frank, it was pretty mehhh. Though I wrote a super jovial piece for The Main on how “amazing” the pre-launch was, that was mostly journalistic BS. I mean, if IB has taught me anything it’s definitely how to bullshit my way into and out of anything. All #fuckIB jokes aside though, I certainly would be lying to say I didn’t enjoy myself that night. It was a great experience that I would have never had without The Main, so many thanks to them! (insert subtle promotion here)
On another note, granted it could easily be because of my innate penchant for tardiness, by the time I had arrived fashionably late to the venue, the good cocktails had already all been downed, while the few comestible-looking hors-d’oeuvres had all been chowed down (sorry, but I just can’t with fucking oysters). Whatevs tho. Thankfully, there were still the clothes which, despite not being as impressive as I would have hoped, certainly did live up to my expectations of a H&M collaboration collection. I element that I now really appreciate is the fact that all the pieces were re-editions from past MMM collections. Though that may seem like a cop-out to some, it truly does democratize (sorry my inner McGill-kid is showing) Maison Martin Margiela by making the generally unattainable luxury that is owning a piece from the avant-gardist house a possibility for all (who don’t mind spend ca$h on overpriced H&M clothes).
Regrettably, I must point out that I was really disappointed in how shitty the duvet coat looked. As the piece I was most excited to see first-hand in the entire collection, it was such a major disappointment. Like, it honestly looked like someone had simply thrown on a fucking duvet, that on top of being ugly-as-shit, also looked cheap-as-fuck. Plus, there was no effort whatsover made to make it seem like it had a nonchalantly, artistically disheveled look to it. You know, that aloof air of “I just woke up and I already look this good” elegance that most people, myself included, can only dream of having. Sprezzatura, my I’m-totes-Italian-cause-my-aunt-lives-in-Italy black ass. What a shame though because that garment truly did had the most potential to be the one stand-out piece. Eh bien!
On a final note,it was a pretty awesome night all in all. Though my Canadian Tuxedo unfortunately wasn’t enough to get be snapped by a streetstyle photog, it certainly enough to reignite my inner love for being pretentious. For a moment I had started doubting myself, but who am I kidding: I am a self-professed hipster after all.
duffle coat – Old Navy
DIY denim motorcycle vest – Zara
denim shirt – Gap
mustard jeans – Urban Planet
Urghh, get ready for the major eargasm that lies below. Though my other sister was surprisingly one to show me this incredibly track, it certainly doesn’t take away from how much I love. Figgy was able to bring “Climax” to a whole other level through classic house vibez that mesh oh so well with Usher’s high-pitched singing. This remix is sort of a new spin on the authentic, circa early-2000s, “U Don’t Have to Call” Usher that I wish would simply return to us in lieu of the current Euro-Trash Usher. Ahhh, a guy can dream!