RedFlagMagazine

Name: Same B. Location: Brooklyn, NY: Bandanna -- Procured at the souvenir shop at the Grand Canyon, summer of 1990. Southwestern styley. 'Nuff said. Sweater-vest -- All due respect to the Hadley, Mass. Salvation Army. I think I wore this ONE time with seriousness -- to a Broadway play. HEY NEW YORK CITY! I'M HERE! Jean-shorts -- Viki always said I looked HOT in these bad-boy cutoffs, but the truth is they make me feel pretty fat. Shoes -- These pointy whiteys were perfect when I lived in London and was slinking my way down the cobblestones of Brick Lane, trying to earn my International Hipster Badge. But now I can't seem to find the time and place and mood that can render them un-ridiculous. Crackers -- Trader Joe's Everything Crackers: I bought them over a year ago. They're still in our cupboard, even after a two-month sublet. I like them, but for some reason never, ever eat them. They're not even really stale. Magazine -- My sister gifted us a subscription to Bon Appetit (it was free for her). Sure, we leafed through it a few times, cut out a pretty good granola recipe, but for the most part these glossy monthlies just stack up like mattresses in the Princess and the Pea. The MEATBALLS issue was particularly useless to us. Accordion -- Another gift from my sis (glad she's not on the recipient list here). I love the look of the thing on our shelf, and I love the sound of the thing when an expert plays it (new Beirut album is on the stereo AS I TYPE), but, to be honest, I only pick the thing up when I'm trying to make someone laugh. I guess that's not so bad.

Name: Jacob Krupnick. Location: Brooklyn, NY: Hat: Stetson (fairly destroyed).  The hobo-cowboy thing was easier when I lived in Poughkeepsie; Brooklyn is at full capacity regarding all things potentially "bohemian."  Spectacles: Worst case scenario hipster scum.  Vintage purchase. Got the RX.  Never wore 'em. Wife-beater: Obviously inspired by Steffen.  Might fit a 12 year-old boy.  The "Cancun" graphic is totally crooked; belly button falls around the letter "u."  Under black light, seeing this shirt would be like seeing God. Sparrow Pants: Sparrows.  On my pants.   Kicks: Can't remember what era these entered my life, but I remember they were super cheap.  And upon reflection, definitely fake.  Stiff as bricks, heavy as fuck, chunky as hell.   Wedding Ring: Keeping it. Cat: Look at him, judging me.  Winston's the man.

Name: Brian Williams. Location: Washington, D.C: It is my 1st business suit. Black with navy blue-ish pinstripes. Sure I had a suit when I first started working in the real world, but it was the same one I had been wearing since the mitzah days and was definitely showing its age. I can remember buying this suit off the Macy's sale rack, then getting it fitted. I couldn't wait to wear it into the office as it made me feel grown up and like one of the guys at the office. This was my first business suit. You take on a different personality when you put on a suit and suits have their own protocols to go with. It has been to countless meetings, in 4 different countries, and 5 different jobs. It was my go-to suit for interviews, important meetings, held up in the heat, and could be worn at a wedding, or even a funeral.   It is only after I purchased a new bespoke suit, made from scratch, that I realized how awful this suit fits me. I mean the taylor must have thought I was 6'2, 250 lbs the way that it bunches over the tops of my shoes. I look and feel ridiculous in it. I wore it the other day to one of those important meetings and the entire time, I hated the fact that I was wearing this suit. Now, as soon as I put it on, I want to take it off and throw it in the garbage. Wearing it doesn't make me feel very business like anymore.   This is my 3rd or 4th attempt to rid myself of this suit. I get to those large donating bins and can't do it, thinking that I'll take it to a taylor to get it to fit right or that I would keep it for emergencies. But I realize now that I don't need to be wearing a suit to be business-like anymore. As if bursting though my professional cocoon, so what if I'm that guy that hasn't combed my hair and am wearing un-ironed khakis and a wrinkled shirt-you'll have to listen to what I say all the same. Maybe I'll turn the pants into shorts and the jacket into a vest. No-be strong-give it away.

Name: Viktoria P. Location: Brooklyn, NY: Earmuffs: Purchased for €2 on a cold winter day in Munich. Shudder. Head wrap that doubles as scarf: Given to me by my Godmother. Bless her. Sunglasses: Bought at Miss Selfridges, York. Famous or what?! T-shirt: TOO KEWL FOR SCHOOL. Need I say more? Fake-cowboy belt: Urban Outfitters. Come on, I'm a tourist in your country. Pimped-up army shorts: Paul's Boutique, Topshop Basement, London. Now they're back in the basement. Greek Superhero Sandals: Acquired with all seriousness in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. Either I'm from the past or way ahead of my time... Filo Dough: Fillo, yo!! This has been sitting in our freezer for over two years. Sometimes we use it as toilet paper. The sheets are so delicate!

Name: Amie Edminston: Location: Miami, Florida: I just cleaned out my boyfriend's closet, but I was able to find a real pretty outfit for myself.

Name: Ben Potts. Location: Miami, FL: I hardly ever wear this cling-film anymore. I'm sure someone can find a better use for it.