Ed Hardy, Audigier, and You; Seriously, Stop It

As a woman, I appreciate when a man puts a little extra effort into the way he looks. I appreciate a man whose clothing fits, and who buys decent quality items so he doesn’t end up looking like a threadbare hobo. I appreciate that guys can have favorite brands too, but as of yet I can’t wrap my head around why some men still choose Ed Hardy and Christian Audigier, even though they hit their stride in 2009.

There’s nothing that gets me as hot as when you look like you rolled through a pile of fifth grader’s wet Tempera paintings and then got a full contact lap dance by a vajazzaled Thai ladyboy. And by nothing, I mean pretty much anything else you choose to wear will be as though you are clothed in pure sex. (If you’re not picking up on the sarcasm here, there’s no hope for you.) What I can tell you is that these glimmering bastions of man-fashion are a huge signal to women- do you know what you’re broadcasting?

Ed Hardy, Audigier, and You; Seriously, Stop It

I don’t deny there’s some sort of magical properties inherent in these brands. They refuse to go away, even though they’re universally hated and practically ancient as far as trends go; I’d call them the highlanders of shirts, but despite the wearers’ usual COME AT ME BRO mentalities, it appears there will never only be one. It’s almost as if as soon as sweat comes into contact with these god awful shirts, the dyes and glues release a miasma of fumes that may bewilder and confuse most, but attract other guidos and club rats in droves. Perhaps these shirts are a necessary evolution of the douche to preserve the species- lord knows these guys aren’t going to get any sane women without a bit of Darwinian help. But what I’m really saying to you is this: you’re an unfinished man. You’re working on being confident and put together and becoming genuinely an all around better guy. These shirts are not going to help you, so save the extra $100 and drink it. Save an average of $50 per shirt across a full wardrobe, and buy a giraffe to ride. Or maybe buy other shirts- the possibilities are limitless, and the world will be your oyster.

“But Gina”, you say, “Ed Hardy is an amazing and respected tattoo artist!” and after I’m finished vomiting all over your shirt (which no one will notice… another evolutionary benefit to the drunken bro?) I will tell you that that’s just fine. I’m not disputing that Hardy wasn’t an exceptional artist and tattooist, that he studied under Sailor Jerry and Horihide, or that he pioneered a joining of Americana and traditional Asian stylings; I probably know more about that shit than you. However, none of that means sweet sassy molassy in the real world, and it definitely isn’t an excuse to plaster yourself in ridiculous commercially bastardized versions of his works. ‘Love Kills Slowly,’ ‘Death or Glory,’ ‘Love Dies Hard’ … Seriously. I have a shirt that has a cookie shyly telling a carton of milk “I love you” and I’m way more badass than any of these overused alpha male war cries will ever make you look. Affliction and Tap Out are just as bad, so stop thinking that cursive writing lazily slapped over free photoshop brushes is suddenly a valid basis for club life tough guy pissing contests.

If you want to get down to the hard facts about why these shirts make you look like an ineffectual twit, it’s not only because they’re an outdated trend: though you do want to create a personal image and style that will help you stand out from the guys around you, peacocking isn’t the way to go. Even if somehow spangling yourself with rhinestones and assaulting a woman’s vision with disco reflections and bone jarring colour worked in some way other than blinding her so she can’t run away, the truth of the matter is you’re proudly displaying to the world that you have more money than brains. The unfortunate reality of celebrity trend brands is that you need more cash to blow just to get into the cool kids club. The cost is higher, and everyone can plainly see you’re a member, but do you want to be visibly identifiable as a ‘luxury seeker’ who willfully bejeweled himself and who likely believes that these cartoon skulls on tie dye don’t look nearly as dumb as Grateful Dead merch does? You may as well walk into a club and start handing dollar bills to every pair of fake tits with bleached hair you see, because (un)fortunately, that’s the cultural meaning we’ve imbued these brands with: socially, these shirts now represent a lifestyle of drunken excess, exorbitant spending, shameless wastefulness and below average intelligence. Every guy needs a few nights involving all of these things, but the finished man’s mystique comes from never being able to tell if he just got home from a stripper midget beer bong ice cream pool party.

What it really boils down to is that women- real women… the ones you want to form relationships with- see these shirts and get leery. Don’t sell yourself and your personality short while emptying your wallet at the same time. Don’t revel in the attention you get from bar whores who are looking for a sugar daddy, and definitely don’t think that a WHOA WAY TO GO BRAH COOL SHIRT is going to make you any more awesome than you have the potential to be in a classic ringer tee. Do yourself a favour and make sure any of those corny shirts in your closet get killed slowly and die hard. No rhinestones, no glory douchebags.