Zack: Slick had a wildly different meaning back then.

Lowtax: You've got to wonder why the vector art clothing style never caught on. "It's like you're wearing a graphing calculator!"

Zack: One looks like vector art, the other ones look like some new age sand painting bullshit you can buy from some crazy woman in Tucson who is 1/16 Pueblo Indian and does pictures of coyotes that look like Chihuahuas.

Lowtax: There's an airbrushed wolf howling in front of a mountain on the back. There is also a cryptic message describing an event which only makes sense to the three people who attended the event where they purchased the shirt.

Zack: Probably Burning Man. I'm willing to blame pretty much all shit like this on Burning Man.

Lowtax: The Slick Look Shirt model appears to be a Cenobite trying to disguise himself as a human, perhaps to land an important job on Wall Street, working as a sales rep for Texas Instruments.

Zack: Yeah, I bet his whole head splits in half and his mouth is like a worm that comes out and vomits acid on people. You shouldn't have fucked with that box Tandy Computing.

Lowtax: I can imagine a worm coming out, but after looking at the height of his waistline, I'd imagine it wouldn't be from his mouth.

Zack: Wherever it comes from, I bet he flips up that awesome giant collar right before it emerges so he looks like a totally evil warlock.

Lowtax: Hell is crammed full of Slick-look shirts. Pinhead is a big advocate of the airbrushed wolf / full moon motif. These are the only shirts that would actually look better if those floating numbers on the ad were physically printed on them.

Zack: That guy with the teeth that chatter all the time absolutely loves dragon shirts. "CLACK CLACK CLACK IT'S A CLACK CLACK RED CLACK CLACK DRAGON."



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Fashion SWAT... the fashion industry is obsessed with impracticality. We know that what designers create was never meant to be worn by the grimy masses, but that doesn't somehow diminish how ridiculous many of these costumes are. Make no mistake, they are costumes, and like a Halloween prize pageant we will turn our discerning gaze on the grievous fashion misfires of Paris, Milan, and New York. We're not pulling any punches, and we're definitely not interested in making any friends. We're Joan Rivers without Melissa Rivers to temper our screeching. We're the Fashion Police in jack boots. We are Fashion SWAT.

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