About Me

Born and raised in the malls of the San Fernando Valley, I've been witness to (and sadly, victim of) fashion crimes of the highest nature. I wore Jelly shoes. I pegged my jeans and doubled up on my socks. And wore Flo-jos, the precursor to the current horror known as Crocs. I know all about horrendous fashion choices. I'm still fighting off my Uggs urge.

And then I moved to New York and saw what happens when people stop shopping at the mall and start shopping in the city. Sometimes it's amazing, most times it's atrocious. Legwarmers and unitards should stay in our past, people. We mock them even now! But they're still on the shelves, usually at some boutiquey-type place where "irony" is a main selling point (I'm talking to you, American Apparel).

But then that got me thinking: why do people insist on continuing what will obviously be scoffed at in a couple of years, if not next season? The people who lived to survive polyester in the '70s warn us against its effects (bad bulges, no breathability, horrid patterns), but we still have those in the East Village who think it's fucking groovy. And all of the awful '80s stuff has found its way into the wardrobes of NYU students, thanks to Urban Outfitters (can we stop making everything sparkly/glittery now? It's okay for some things, but nobody needs an entire wardrobe of sparkly/glittery).

So this blog is my photojournalistic foray (of poor quality because I can't afford a good digital camera) into what I call urbanotardation. And, yes, I made that word up. I will gladly explain its etymological history for any doubters. Neologisms are a hobby of mine.