soho ii

Live and direct from I, Twink Puppet:

Fatty and I made a pilgrimage to the untouchable retail temple of SoHo today. We walk down the stairs of Uniqlo, which has adopted the whole japanime trend a little late in the game. I attempt to make fun of the triple foiled poly blend 'manga'-wear while walking at the same time, an act which I am not coordinated enough to do. I nearly run into a (legitimate, kim-chee eatin' non-hipster) asian girl as I attempt to ask Fatty 'What do you think of tentacle porn?'.

Club Monaco features new looks for late twenty something homo advertising intern debutantes everywhere. Sadly, none are present when we arrive. Downstairs, a lone family of excessively eastern european tourists burble severe and raspy consonants, seemingly in regard to knit tops. I love this store, this mecca for Americans trying to look more Europeans, a store only to actually be visited by Europeans attempting to shop in America. The monochromancy begins to wear, and I suddenly long for to buy something made of a petroleum biproduct that comes in nothing but canary yellow.

So we end up in Daffy's, a retail porta-potty for SoHo's gentry, off-the-rack afterbirth. I am at home here. The staff neither looks at you nor speaks your language, and I can shop undisturbed. Fatty, clearly is search of more unaffordable pastures, immediately poo-poos it.

I miss Target. Can I say that here?