GQ has placed Boulder 40th on their list of worst-dressed cities. To which I say: It’s awesome to look good naked.
But first of all, GQ, what is up with these photos? The first time I clicked this link, you had a photo that clearly isn’t Boulder. It might be somewhere outside of town, up in the mountains. Maybe. But the over-exposed mountains in the old photo look a lot like the Canadian Rockies to me. You have probably never been there. Or here. It’s all part of the flyover zone, like Kansas or Ohio or Ontario, or those other “O” or “I” states. Ontario’s a state, right? You tell me, GQ, you tell me.
If this photo is outside of Boulder (it is), then odds are good these are tourists. Because people in Boulder don’t go to the scenic overlook. If you need a photograph of a Boulderite in a mountain setting, I’d tell you where to go, but I don’t think you’d risk walking through dirt in your Prada shoes to get there.
But whatever, because today your post has a new photo, of barefoot dudes either peeing into a bush or investigating a possible new medical-MJ community farm. However, I’m counting one mullet and zero dreadlocks in this photo. So again, I’m suspicious. I don’t think this is Boulder.
Now, follow this spelling lesson about Boulder fashion closely: My Prana pants (not Prada) have collected perma-dirt and a little perma-tree sap from climbing. I’ll wear them for apres-climb at Mountain Sun anyway, because after you’ve had two pints of the best craft brews you’ve ever had (and I just returned from Scotland — we have it better here), you don’t care about a little post-climbing sap on your pants, and neither does anyone else in Boulder.
See, Boulderites have special fashion concerns that the average GQ-type can’t appreciate.
For example, my last post here is about what to wear to go skiing in July in Colorado. So you know, I learned that what you wear is a Hawaiian shirt or bikini top and the ski boots you no longer care about, because they’re going in the pond if you don’t make the skim.
We don’t all wear Crocs; we might all wear flip-flops. The North Face is for sponsored climbers (we have many here) and some college students; Patagonia is the organic T-shirt and puffy-jacket brand of choice. Cycling shorts are worn with cycling shoes, not tennies, dipshits. And they’re only nighttime attire when you’re doing the Thursday cruiser ride, and in that case, you’re probably wearing a tutu on top of them, gasp.
And vegan cookies can be fucking delicious.
Who cares about clothes, anyway, when you’re some of the thinnest, fittest, most educated people around. So the CU girls wear Uggs in the summer. Whatever. They’re probably badasses who ran barefoot through the winter. Just come visit and you’ll see we’re lovely people who can quote Kant, Keynes and the Buddha, all while looking awesome naked (at least you got that part right). If that doesn’t suit you, we have some hipsters running around on fixies that might please you.
But be warned that when you get here, some 85-year-old might kick your ass. (You got that part right, too.)