Superstars don’t need apostrophes, goddamnit – let the little people deal with lowly concerns like punctuation. Once fame embraces you and places that magical silvery 63 upon your shoulder, you become a part of an elite and untouchable club, and if you want to rub the world’s nose in that by wearing a flimsy, shapeless sweatshirt with an askew print-job on it then that is very much your right and privilege.
Loving the blog. And it’s even made me reconsider one of my Primark items.
Mate, you’ve gotta get over to Spain if you want weird tshirts. Apparently things vaguely to do with London are in fashion, but the problem is that next to nobody speaks English, so everything’s spelt wrong, none of it’s funny and sometimes it’s a bit creepy. The strangest one I ever saw was a black tshirt with white lettering that looked like it was done in MS Paint, which read “You should know my name. Soon it will sound very familiar to you.”