The hotter it is outside, the harder it is to look dapper. Less layers, less options, less determination. You just wanna chill. You wanna sip your piña colada next to the pool, checking out either the passing booties, or your Instagram with booties on it. The biggest decision you wanna make is whether to go for a swim or to stay in your beach chair and check out some more booties. That’s life, you think!
And you wanna know what I think? I think, you are a fucking embarrassment. Pull yourself together, you lazy piece of disappointment! Them booties go to real gentlemen – with style and charisma. And how much charisma there is in your salad-green swim shorts with palm-trees on it, huh?
Act sartorial, dawg. Keep a light summer blazer close by, wear a good shirt. Even a pocket square would do! You might look a bit overdressed, that’s true, but fuck it, we all need some attention once in a while.
And don’t you worry about those stupid booties, who’d be giggling behind your back. They don’t know nothing! All they’d end up with is a pumped misogynistic dude in a tank top with a “Come Again?” sign on it. Classy.
As for you, homie, looking as sharp as you are now, you are gonna find your perfect booty, the booty of your life! And you’ll be the happiest homie out there! And everyone’s gonna be so jealous of you, having that high-class booty all to yourself. And you’ll marry that booty, and you’ll have little children, and all.
And one fine day, many years after, you’ll be in your deathbed, surrounded by all your extended family, with your loving bootie by your side. And you will look around wisely, gather all your strength and say something like:
“It was very sexist of me to talk about booty all the time. Forgive me, everyone. Most of all, you, Meredith (that’d be your booty’s name). I treated you disrespectfully, even after you’ve got your PhD in rocket science and saved that blind Chinese lady from a shark… Forgive me. It was never about booty… (Everyone’s crying and hugging you, your pitbull named Booty is eagerly licking your meek hand.) No, no, no… Now I understand.
It was… always… about… titties.”
And then you will die happily.
Photography by: Max Lemesh