I would buy these Dries Van Noten sweatpants and go to really fancy restaurants and clubs that have strict "no jerseys or sweatpants" dress codes, just toying with motherfuckers, like I wish you would say some shit. And when the hostess is like, "Oh, I'm sorry. You can't wear sweatpants here," I'd son the fuck out of her by saying, "THESE ARE DRIES VAN NOTEN SWEATPANTS. THAT GUY OVER THERE HAS ON KHAKIS HIS WIFE BOUGHT HIM FROM A PILE IN COSTCO. WHICH ONE DO YOU THINK ACTUALLY HURTS THE PERSONAL BRAND OF THIS SHITTY RESTAURANT?" Then I would bounce and go eat at Red Robin where they are far more liberal with their policies and french fry serving sizes.
