Every Thursday morning, I wake up in my Supreme Boxers five minutes before the new release of Supreme clothes. I put on my Supreme leather gloves and my Supreme skiing goggles so I can be decked out in enough “clout,” as the cool kids say. I can’t wait to spend $200 on a hoodie I’ll only wear once. But it’s alright since I can always sell my sweat-stained clothes for six times the retail price.
I don’t just fork out my entire wallet on hyped up brands to fit in with society, I definitely care about brand history, quality and practicality. Spending $30 on a Supreme brick was totally a worthwhile purchase. It could be a doorstop, a weapon for self-defense, a decadent display piece or even a pillow if you’re brave enough.
Some people think that I should get a job instead because reselling clothing is apparently a “dumb and inconsistent career path.” But they don’t understand that I’m doing this for the culture–our generation of “hypebeasts.” Although I have almost no idea what streetwear culture even means, saying that I do validates my purpose in life–to inspire the youth to take risks and splurge on high-end street brands.
Normal teens spend their money on their friends and use their free time to enjoy their social lives. But I’m unique in the sense that I’ve evolved past needing friends. My entire life is centered around clothes only. I’ve convinced myself that I don’t even need friends. If people don’t mess with my vision and think that having a personality is more important than what Kanye West is wearing, then who needs love and affection? Getting likes on Instagram is more than enough for me.
When I walk down the street in my name brand outfit, there are hateful stares that follow me every step of the way. But why should I care what other people think when their entire outfit cost less than my shoes? The loudness of my clashing patterns speaks louder than their words. I’d rather shell out my money on a brand new jacket rather than save up for a car, that way people can see how much of a fashion god I am.
I can understand why other people my age don’t idolize me for the diety I think I am but I can’t wrap my head around the fact that my teachers don’t think I’m cool. I thought that if I flexed hard enough, eventually they would turn around and grade me based on how stylish I am. I don’t even need school, learning the Pythagorean theorem won’t help me swipe my credit card faster.
With my type of lifestyle, 99% of my income goes towards clothes and shoes. With food, I refuse to eat in any establishment that doesn’t allow me to bring my own Supreme bowls and Supreme chopsticks. And that is not because I can only afford to eat instant noodles. I definitely make enough money to live by.
I know what I’m saying may seem self-centered and irresponsible, and while that may be true, I can still live vicariously through my closet. Learning to grow up and make something out of my life is just a myth. The only things worth living for are the clothes I wear and the shoes on my feet.
Even if the pressure of adulthood and living a life beyond fabrics lies heavily on my shoulders, I choose to deal with my problems the same way I do with everything else. Deny all responsibilities and place my blame on other people for not understanding streetwear—as I wipe my tears with my Supreme handkerchief.
Is there really anything to life other than wearing expensive clothes?