Let’s Imagine A Terrible Backstory For This J. Crew Model
Arnold didn’t know where his jeans were when he awoke that morning in his 6,000 square foot East Hampton cottage, so he pulled on a pair of denim-colored sweatpants. They made him feel safe and alive, as if he were in fact wearing jeans, only comfortable jeans, jeans that soothed his skin and his soul, jeans that made him forget that Oliver had left him for a common drag queen named Jakarta.
But it was when he donned his orange sweater — yes, a top in his power color — that Arnold truly felt the energy of the Atlantic Ocean coursing through his veins.
“I can do this,” he whispered to himself. “I can get through this day. Now where are my extremely ugly shoes? Oh, yes, there they are.” And he put them on, too.
He strolled to the beach, where he set up a frame and draped a whole bunch of black fabric everywhere, as was his wont.
“Just like when I was a child,” he said, smiling fondly at the memories.
And as he gazed out at the ocean, he felt stirring within his loins a joy unlike anything he had experienced in years. It was all perfect, all of it: the waves, the sand, his sweatpants, his shitty shoes, and his orange sweater glowing like a beacon.
“I know what I have to do,” he said to no one in particular. And he walked right into the ocean, where a whale was waiting to take him to the magical underwater kingdom where he had always belonged.