A strange aroma composed of coffee and cigarettes burnt my nostrils as I opened my eyes from my attempted nap. My hands were numb, my cheeks were red, and I could see each breath I took. It was a cold March morning outside of Pogo Skate Shop in Birmingham. The sun had not yet risen, but orange streaks were beginning to appear on the horizon.
There were about thirty other people waiting outside of Pogo with me that morning. What a peculiar bunch of people we were-- a mix of white, black, rich, and poor. I observed the different personal styles among the group and compared them to my own style. This morning a pair of Jordan's and a pair of Nike SBs were releasing. As a result, there was a fascinating converging of cultures in the line. It would be another three hours before the store opened at 8 a.m., and at this point I was beginning to question my judgement
Time began to pass and soon enough the store was open. The line finally began to move towards the door; with each step my excitement grew. I eventually made it to the entrance and I still remember the relief I felt as the warmth of the store hugged me and pulled me away from the brisk air outside. I asked for a pair of the Concord Nike SBs in a size 9.5, beginning to remove the wrinkled roll of bills…show more content… I began watching interviews with my favorite designers, sketching my own ideas, and even bought a camera to document my ever changing style. One day I even noticed my music affecting my style, as I sifted through the internet looking at pictures of what my favorite artists were wearing. I began writing reviews on some of my favorite pieces and here discovered a love for writing and journalism. Fashion even connected me to the beauty of surrealism. An art project my junior year had me create a closet for someone in the 1920s. This is when I discovered the poetry of Arthur Rimbaud and again found my love for fashion connecting to another form of
