"Slow down, I just want to get to know you".

There are some things in life that just need to be eased into. Like this blog post, for example. I'm not here to talk about relationships, but that's what the above lyric led you to believe I was going to talk about.

But I'm not. For me, this topic is a much more difficult topic to discuss than relationships. And that's sayin' something, you know what I'm saying?

No, because even I don't.

Flashin' flashin' flashin' flashin' lights lights lights lights.

Also not what I'm writing about, but flashin' kinda sounds like fashion, which brings us to the lecture at hand. You see, anybody that knows me (if you're reading this, you comprise just about 24.3% of that specific subset of the world) knows that I know not a worthwhile thing about fashion, about matching colors, about what's hot (MIMS!), about pricing and in general, about style. Which is why the following should make for such a painful fun read.

Now that you've clicked the magical read more button, I should probably warn you this is going to be real long.

It was recently brought to my attention that I'm turning twenty three in the near future. Yet, I insist on donning outfits fit for sweet sixteen year olds. Pretty sad.

Pretty comfortable, but pretty sad.

Once again, I am far from an expert on issues regarding clothing, but I'd like to think I have some not-so-common sense. Conventional social pressures would probably lead you to believe that if you ever wanted to change your fashion style, you should probably walk into the new style brimming with confidence. Don't just buy one new outfit, switch up your whole wardrobe to reflect this new style.

Nobody try this with polka dots. I don't care how much confidence you have, trust me, that confidence make like Casper and disappear.

Sometime during the roadtrip, Beyonce decided she would do her whole Upgrade U thing to my clothes and accessories. Except it felt getting one of those pieces of paper that's supposed to be a temporary placeholder until your real drivers license arrives in the mail in 4-6 weeks.

I might win some, but I just lost one (you).

My wardrobe now consists of all articles previously owned (I have a problem throwing things out, word to my TTC transfer collection, just kidding, that collection doesn't exist like Santa Clause), an Ecko United hoodie and a green NY Yank's hat. It's kinda like evolution (you know, the way the world wasn't created). I'm trying to fit in these new articles of clothing with my existing style, to gradually, seamlessly, and invisibly shift into a new style. Nobody will even notice.

Unless they read this. Or point out that I grew up in a predominately white suburban neighborhood, and that wearing even a single article of "urban-ish" clothing makes me stand out person of middle-eastern decent unfairly biased against in an airport security line.

Does anybody wonder where I get this stuff sometimes?

Either way, I'm slowly migrating my dress code from a 15 year old, to that of a 20 year old white rapper. It's called progress, and Barack told me that yes, I can.