I’m a steady hand, I’m a Dodgers fan.

[Vintage Steppenwolf t-shirt + scalloped cocoon cardigan + black cotton seamed pants + Edelman Louies.]

I’m aware that I can be a little boring here. Maybe even a one-trick pony. There are better writers, a multitude of cooler photos to look at, smarter blogs, whatever. But it’s what I can’t say that holds me back.

If there’s one thing I wished for this blog, it’d be that it was anonymous. You have no idea the amount of things I cannot say here—it’s not even that I’m 75% here, it’s that I’m almost negatively represented here—and that’s being fair. I have things swirling around in my brain 88% of the time and I can’t share them.

Because authenticity is all I care about. It’s why I’m here.

That being said, some mixture of authentic and old seems to be what holds my attention these days. I went through old pictures the other day and I was as repulsed as I was intrigued. I wouldn’t take back my teens, but those in-the-moment, tech-free, dirty honesty of life before social media days… god, there was something to it.

So I’m going to start a list of dying breeds.

You know what I’m talking about.

Dying breeds are almost easier to sit around a table and rattle off than state capitals these days. It’s like good shit’s dying off faster than the Internet can whip up new norms. And I don’t wanna keep up.

All you kids who went to college without cell phones, stand up. There was a life before, and it was blissful. There will be a life after, too, but right now there’s a full-tilt, mouth open inhalation of phony these days I can’t even keep my head on straight.

So now’s your chance.

Lemme know the dying breed that you can’t imagine the world without.

Because as long as people are assigning hashtags to their own kids, we’ve got to be the ones logging the fact that once—just once—there was a more legit joint. Where CDs had booklets. (That’s mine.)

-C.