That shirt in the avatar was a metallic blue, similar to my eyes before turning slightly green.
In San Francisco, I did mostly security work… they had some sick fascination in sticking me into the really high end fashion stores in Union Square. I was asked in a store, while this window designer was setting up a window display, to grab her the wedge next to me and put it next to the horse saddle… looked next to me, saw no wedge… looked a little farther, saw a door wedge, so went and picked it up, so proud of myself, sitting it down on the box. Like a minute later she started calling me a idiot, and everyone laughing at me. Apparently, a wedge is a shoe.
But those faggots explained how fashion worked to me over time. I was asked by one designer, after having spent months standing bored out of my fucking mind in disgust in one store by the back door makeup artist, how military camo makeup differed from their stock in texture, and application. We actually had a rather indepth discussion about the history of camouflage techniques, and variations… I sadly found out, much to my dismay, that no combination of makeup would result in a face melting or explosion, as they were very careful to avoid using active ingredients in their makeup. The hope of seeing someone’s head explode was the only thing keeping me going some days there.
But I know alot now. I have a very worthless capacity to figure out the size, make, and model of a luxury purse now, and can tell if they are fake… and now sadly enough can’t find a girl attractive if she is clueless about fashion combinations, or bad hair in makeup. There was a time where a nice bidy and face was enough, but I see too many crackheads stumble around now putting together some bad outfits.
However, this has never stopped me from dressing badly myself. If anything, it reinforced my own bad tastes, fuck em. Don’t comb my hair, always shorts. But my overshirts do match my eyes and skin tone now. Something of a effect I suppose.