The slogan trend is a God’s given gift to the non-confrontational amongst us. I mean, there is literally a tee or knit that states just about everything and anything. Want to ask a boy for his number but can’t muster the courage to tell him so? Then shop Ashish for Topshop and observe your prospective beau scribble his digits across your bosom.
My first taste for the trend took place at the tender age of 14, when the cool kids in town were wearing “fcuk” phrases across their chests, and didn’t fcuking care if the teachers didn’t like it. I wasn’t allowed one. My mother tried to appease me with a DKNY top, but Denmark/New York (sorry Donna) was not comparable to elusions of illicit activities that I didn’t yet understand.
This season I will not be mincing my words. I will cavort around Italy in Moschino, shuffle amongst the Japanese in Isabel Marant and bisous through France in Zoe Karssan. But first I have to remedy the fact that I am “Broaklyn” like OAK.
