Roadhouse Clothing, Footwork4Fashion, Ghana vs. Oz (Pt. 2)

New bag – check

Camera – check

Eye keen for unique trends/styles – check

Introduction of self and cue innocent smile down pack – check

Looking quite dapper – check

Business cards…………. – a problem, but not a problem!

Cold, gray, windy, and the kind of atmosphere that has you second guessing if that was a rain drop that just fell on your cheek.  This was my setting as I walked along the fairly easy to navigate streets of the Melbourne CBD.  Camera in hand and eager to start my new venture for FashionHorne – Footwork for Fashion (that’s what I call it anyways).

You cant help but to take in the CBD with its art deco buildings, beautiful gardens, quaint, but seedy side streets, museums, galleries, and the people.  Last on the list, but not the least are the people.  You get the sense that every other person you walk past in the street is not quite 100% Aussie and sure enough during my random approach to individuals showering them with compliments on their look and style (BS’ing is an art folks) I find myself still struggling; trying to convey the English language.  I’m in an English-speaking country for crying out loud (I’m from America – I know, I know), but you tend to get over that pretty quick when you approach a 20 something whose accent spills out of her mouth like milk and honey.  You hope a napkin comes out of that mouth just so you can wipe the drool from your ears after you’ve had a buffet of Russian, Polish, Scottish, and French accents plucking your ear drums.

I may have fumbled my words a bit during my dialogue with many of the women that I took photos of, but none the less they were quite able to understand me and with a camera in my hand it tend to speak enough for what I was about (I though I had my introduction down pact – damn).  The only thing that stood between me and sealing the deal for more photo opportunities was the business card dilemma.  I do a quick chit chat throw out there that I’m working for FashionHorne in Manhattan and all that jazz, but when requested to show credentials or some form of proof that this isn’t just some American creep trying to perv on them I was unable to pull through.  I was almost eager to whip out my New Jersey drivers license to at least prove I was American!  I knew I had to improvise if I wanted to get anywhere and with the weather being  shit as it was my attitude was going south.  Suddenly it came to me; something I had as well as damn near everyone on God’s green earth has and that was eMail!

I began to incorporate in my spiel that I would gladly email the photos to the individuals once development was complete (digital camera, but they didn’t think twice about it).  It was showing promise and I was able to pull off some good shots such as the one you see below of a lovely lady I enjoyed speaking to by the name of Patricia.  I was eager to call it a night and continue verbal intercourse as we would walk around Federation Square, but I had to stay focus and fulfill my goal that I was set out to do!

The night went very well for me and I was satisfied, but now the next question was “Will the good folks at FashionHorne be satisfied?”  I do not doubt myself often, but I will say I am cautious.  Not a perfectionist because that’s not possible in my opinion, but as a drunk man once told me:

“Eddie, you strive not for perfection, but for improvement – improvement is infinite.”

Those words have stuck in the back of my head and I have lived by them, most of the time, ’til this day.  Drunk brotha from East Orange, smelling like Baliantine’s Ale I thank you for those words.

I wanted to hit up a suburb around Melbourne called Brunswick that has a reputation for trendsetting, but looking at my vintage Elgin timepiece it appeared it just wasn’t in the cards.  I had to make the VLine to Phillip Island to catch up with a good friend of mine that helped this young American out when his chips were down.  I was making my way back to Spencer Street where I would catch the bus for the hour and a half trip back to P.I.  I’m pushing through the sidewalks without a care in the world because I had a feeling I really needed to pick up the pace and make this bus.  Tri-State instincts kicked in and you would think people never saw a man shoulder his way through the masses on a sidewalk and had a stride with purpose.  I get to the station at 6:05PM just to miss the 5:55PM train by 10 minutes.  Just my luck the teller at the counter notifies me that was the last bus leaving to P.I. that evening.  I got a birthday card for this guy, and believe me I’m really not into doing birthday cards.  My own Mother knows if she gets a card from me that it’s something special.  I’m just lazy when it comes to things like that I suppose.  I gave my mate’s misses a call to let her know I wouldn’t be making it and to give my best wishes to the old man.

After making the phone call from hell that my presence would be absent I was then left stuck with my hand on my chin.  I didn’t want to leave Melbourne.  I made a few phone calls to friends trying to find a couch to crash at for the night, but no one was picking up or they were already three sheets to the wind at a quarter past six at night.  I didn’t understand this, and yes it was a Saturday night, but there was something I was missing.  I got through to a good friend by the name of Joshua Deen, Roadhouse model, and through my play with words and the appearance that I was beating around the bush he just came out and said “You need a place to crash?”  I of course replied with the affirmative.  He let me know that he was heading to a soccer match party and that it wasn’t going to be a short quiet night.  I was all for it and next thing you know I’m on a train to New Market station where I would find myself surrounded by Africans (not the American breed) and a passionate crowd at that since it was Ghana vs Australiaaaaaaa……………to be continued in part three coming soon!

"I'm a traveling man moving through places, space and tiii-iiiime...."-May December, Mos Def


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Porch Days

June 2010
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