Subway Etiquette Is Neither Etiquette Nor Even Exists. Discuss.

My commute today was like a crash course in Subway Douchery

Example #1:
Guy in the F station playing the marimba. Not a guitar or a bucket, but a full-out xylophone about half the width of the platform.

Example #2:
Woman with a baby in a sling carrier gets on at Delancey St. No one offers her a seat.
(I finally did — she declined. But still...)

Example #3:
Woman with a little boy and what looks like a large suitcase gets on at Jay St. No one offers her a seat.
(Again, I did, and again, she declined, but like I said....)

Example #4:
Guy gets on at Astor Place with a bicycle and sits down smack in the middle of the row of seats with the bicycle perfectly centered in front of him. So not only can no one stand in the aisle in front of him because it's blocked by the bicycle, no one can sit next to him either without climbing over the bicycle to get to the empty seats. Oh, and did I mention? It is RUSH HOUR.

Which brings me to my next point: IF YOU HAVE A BICYCLE WITH YOU, WHY AREN'T YOU RIDING THE DAMN BICYCLE??

Thank you, that will be all for today.

NOH8

Get your purple on.

The Trevor Project

Fashionista

I love when I'm running late in the mornings. It forces me to be sartorially creative. For example, I'm wearing such a random assortment of garments today, I'm surprised my boss hasn't sent me home. Not for violating the dress code, but for disturbing the other employees.

I Made It.

"If Los Angeles is a woman reclining billboard model and the San Fernando Valley is her teenybopper sister, then New York is their cousin. Her hair is dyed autumn red or aubergine or Egyptian henna, depending on her mood. Her skin is pale as frost and she wears beautiful Jil Sander suits and Prada pumps on which she walks faster than a speeding taxi (when it is caught in rush hour, that is). Her lips are some unlikely shade of copper or violet, courtesy of her local MAC drag queen makeup consultant. She is always carrying bags of clothes, bouquets of roses, take-out Chinese containers, or bagels. Museum tags fill her pockets and purses, along with perfume samples and invitations to art gallery openings. When she is walking to work, to ward off bums or psychos, her face resembles the Statue of Liberty, but at home in her candlelit, dove-colored apartment, the stony look fades away and she smiles like the sterling roses she has bought for herself to make up for the fact that she is single and her feet hurt." — Francesca Lia Block.