I know what you’re thinking.
How could this scene get any chicer?
The glamor of an electric blue trench coat against creamy, limp limbs. The pageantry of strewn about, non-descript basics and prison jumpsuit orange pea coats. The slumped over, bowlegged, zombie-like homelessness of it all.
How French. How fetching. How … I don’t know what.
If only her wig was crooked and haphazardly tucked under a sinfully ugly fur cap, this glorious vision could be complete.
Forever 21, What Le Fuck?