You knew you were all hot, well
Maybe you'll go and blow a gasket
- "Trucker's Atlas," Modest Mouse
I was born and raised in the Matanuska-Susitna Valley in America's "Last Frontier," the breathtakingly beautiful state of Alaska.
18 years later, in that same serendipitous month that I had transplanted myself to a quaint private liberal arts college tucked away in the mid-Hudson area of upstate New York, my lovely Alaskan valley and its city of Wasilla burst onto the international stage wielding patriotic red pencil suits, rimless glasses, AK-47s and - you betcha - pitbulls with lipstick (no, not bulldogs...)
Don't get me wrong - I love my home. The sun shining down on midnight swims at Kepler-Bradley, mud-adorned black Ford F-350s with decals of our statewide 907 area code emblazoned for all to see, and peanut butter milkshakes at the Valley Hotel? There's nothing better.
But this blog isn't about mesh half-shirt-toting, mullet-baring mud-yuckers, so this blog can't as well be about Wasilla.
This blog is about the life and beauty and spirit of the brave souls who wake up every morning and, upon a hard heavy investigation of the world their closet has to offer and prepare their bodies like a canvas for all the crawling, hailing, lower-than-thou denizens of their unspoken fashion kingdom to see, gawk at, and admire.
You know who you are.
We will begin with a several-week-long tour of the United States' west coast cities.
First stop: Eugene, Oregon.
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