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I'm pretty sure I'm standing in some homeless guy's bed here. Not only was the surrounding area littered with broken glass and old beer cans but also an array of personal items, like that lovely pair of navy/green/I-don't-know-because-I-didn't-examine-it-any-closer pair of men's boxers that I unsuccessfully cropped out of the photo. At least whoever lives here has a sample sized bit of astroturf to store his boxers on-it's kind of like a lawn, right? Yeah, I didn't think so either. The entire time I was shooting, I was mildly terrified that the occupant would return and commit some sort of first-five-minutes-of-a-law-and-order-show act of violence but couldn't bring myself to shoot anywhere else because this was the only spot that I could find that had inoffensive but still decently impressive graffiti-either Portland is remarkably devoid of street art or I'm just incredibly oblivious to it for some reason. Knowing me, it's probably the latter. I was wearing my ridiculously oversized, shoulder-slitted UNIF shirt that everyone seems to think I made myself, so I wanted to shoot somewhere decently edgy to do it justice. Given the fact that my escape from this make-shift house was remarkable in it's lack of tetanus contraction, I'd like to say I succeeded.