I just received my copy of the latest New York Magazine, and there's a kid on the front wearing the same outfit as pictured above, but in a different pose. The caption reads, "This is Mike the Ruler. He is 13. He is a fashion giant on Instagram." This comes just after I stumbled across a 12-year-old fashion designer named Isabella Rose Taylor who is selling her designs at Neiman Marcus or Nordstrom or something. I think it's Neiman Marcus.
WHY AM I SO OLD?!
13? Fashion giant? Cover of New York Magazine? What!? Where did I go wrong in my life? Growing up, my mom made sure I was meticulously dressed in matching ensembles of top-of-the-line kids clothes. But this kid is wearing Supreme, Rick Owens, and other ridiculously expensive streetwear fashion brands which are extremely popular at the moment. They're popular with guys my age (30-ish) with careers and funds to pay for such clothing. The guys who go for this kind of fashion probably drop entire paychecks on jackets and jeans, then ration cans of tuna for lunch and dinner the rest of the month. (See: Four Pins, a men's fashion blog.) These are straight guys, mind you.
Anyway, then this kid comes along and is clearly a spoiled pubescent whose parents can afford to drop small fortunes for size small men's streetwear and high fashion brands. In the picture above, he's wearing a Helmut Lang jacket and antique denim Levis. Algebra? Biology? Literature? No, no, no. Instead, Mike the Ruler spends his days taking selfies of himself wearing these supremely expensive duds.
I just checked, and he has over 7,500 followers on Instagram. I have like 2. If that.
You know, the more I read, the more I think I'd like this kid if I met him. This article on Four Pins paints him as a nice, intellectual kid. He's written articles and essays about fashion, and it seems to be an appropriate passion for him. I, myself, love clothes. I just can't afford anything he wears. So, while we might be able to hang and have intelligent discussions about fashion, I'll always feel pangs of jealousy while checking out his shoes. Damn kids.
Okay, so it's been five months and one week, but who's counting? Oh yeah, I am! I haven't had a cigarette in FIVE WHOLE MONTHS! I never thought I'd quit. I was just talking to my sister who still smokes, and I asked her if she had ever thought I would quit. She said no, she never thought I would quit, and if I did, she would quit long before me. Well, look who made it through five long months without smoking a cigarette! I'm pretty proud of myself. I was a pretty heavy smoker at a little over a pack a day, and I had trouble doing anything without having a cigarette beforehand. Actually, I had trouble doing anything without knowing I could have a cigarette break or the promise of a cigarette afterward. And coffee. Forget it. I never thought I'd be able to drink a cup of coffee without a cigarette... or seven. But I'm sitting here typing this with a cup of coffee next to my laptop, no cigarette in sight.
When I was with my sister the other day, we had been shopping at WalMart, and afterward she said she needed a cigarette. Who wouldn't? WalMart is a zoo. I smelled the cigarette she lit and I expressed out loud my satisfaction in having quit, and that I couldn't imagine smoking again. I can't. The thought of a cigarette makes my stomach turn. Which is a definite good thing. I don't want to smoke again. Lots of people say that if they were told they only had a month to live, no matter how long they had been quit, they would buy a carton of cigarettes and smoke to their death. I wouldn't. Absolutely not.
Everything smells better, especially my hair and clothes and house. I don't have to open windows in the dead of winter. I don't have to constantly chew gum or brush my teeth. I don't have to take two showers a day. I don't have to take cigarette breaks. I can taste food again, and I've discovered that I don't like certain things like buffalo wings because my taste buds can't handle the spice now that they've been stripped of the tar and nicotine. I can smell everything again, and like taste, I don't like the smell of certain things anymore. Stale smoke smell being the worst of all, but I can smell every person who just had a cigarette no matter what they do to cover the smell. It's gross.
Who would've thought I'd reach this milestone? I sure didn't think I'd make it. But I did, and I'm totally happy. The first few weeks are the hardest, but I still do catch a craving every once in awhile. When I do, I just remember how expensive and smelly it was, and how hard it was to breathe. This is awesome. If you're quitting, stick with it. It's totally worth the hassle, bad moods, and impatience. You can do it. Here's to another five months.
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My name is Nicholas Emeigh, but everyone calls me Nick, and I prefer it. I'm usually called Nicholas when I'm in trouble. I'm from the Philadelphia area, work in business, and fancy myself as a freelance graphic designer, writer, and artist. I have a passion for art in all its forms including music, but I restrict my singing to the shower and the car for the good of society. If you'd like to know more, just send me an e-mail. I really appreciate you stopping by.