It’s socially acceptable for women to engage in a high level of sartorial narcissism. Ladies get to drop wild amount of money on high heels, dresses, makeup and varying accessories all in the name of looking the best that they can. No ones mad at that – it’s a beautiful thing. However, in the last 5-10 years there’s been an increased interest in what dudes were doing to maintain their fresh. I’m not just talking about the mid 00′s interest in “metrosexuals”, I’m talking about everything from dudes who drop two bills on  a pair of limited edition Y-3 sneakers, heads who have the most exclusive and newest fitted caps, dudes who import Japanese selvedge denim & heads who get down on the classic Americana prep shit. Specifics of the execution don’t really matter, more and more cats are taking interest in how they style on these hoes*.

The thing about getting fresh though – whether it’s on the reg or just for a special occasion – there’s going to come a moment where you look in the mirror to check your outfit and you have a brief moment of insane internal monologue. A moment of complete ego driven, shit talking, self appreciation where you basically say “Damn, I am totally killing the game right now, what the fuck ya’ll know about the color coordination throughout my fall look? ‘Nothin.’ – ©Nore“. Ladies have harddrives worth of songs dedicated to this moment – half of the Destiny’s Child and Beyonce solo catalog come to mind – dudes only have a few choice cuts. But with rap embracing the concept of swagger over the last couple years the number grows daily. What dudes do have for inspiration is Fuck Yeah Menswear, a new anonymous blog dedicated to the poetry of self aggrandizing and hurting people’s feelings through your personal style. Check an excerpt below:

The sneaks and suits crew had just finished off round one at the strip club breakfast buffet.
Inspiration was flowing like a popped bottle of Dom P.
F/W was taking shape.
The shape of a husky dude in a crushed velvet tux and Weezer framers.
Fat nerd chic.
Portly dork gimp swag.
Elbaz spazzin’ on the dancefloor to some old ass Postal Service.
Geeked on some next level OshKosh shit he saw in Pari.
He taught me how to Dougie.
Ossendrizzy was in full on smash mode.
Ice water pumped through his veins.
His heart racing at 5 beats per minute.
Legally dead, he BBM’d his private photog.
“Dude, get over here ASAP. I can’t cross my arms all night. Shit’s about to get real.”
“Make sure to wear some pleats and a bowtie.”
“Do work.”
It wasn’t long before sheen steez trou were tucked into dominatrix man booties.
And prosty rag scarves trailed off into post modern two tone cardis.
The house of Lanvin was alive and well.
A foundation made of strip club sausages.
A basement flooded with champagne.
A roof of androgyny.
Walls lined with stacks of hundies.
Ready to wear.
Ready to win.
Ready to get fucking sexual.
Kanye West zipped off into the sunset on a bedazzled Segway.
Never to be seen or heard from again.

The thing that makes this blog great is how locked into that moment of personal insanity dude is. When you’re feeling yourself hard on that “you can’t tell me nothing…” shit, this is the voice you rant in. Me personally, I have my rants delivered by a mini Puffy. Kinda like Jimminy Crickett but it’s post shiny suit era, pre Making The Band Puffy. When the egotism was just perfect, Jennifer Lopez in the “Waiting For Tonight” video swag on a googolplex… but, I digress. This dudes missives on style are one part GQ style section, one huge part Cash Money Millionaires shit talking and one part Rick Flair showmanship. Swirled all together with some customized slang and subtle references to multiple eras of hip hop you have a body of work that will inspire many a bedroom mirror Diddy meets Oscar Wilde monologues. You’ve got to love that.

* Hoes in the unisex application. No gender politics here.

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