10 Situations in Life Where Dope Clothing Makes You Too Over-Confident and You End Up Failing Miserably

Image via Complex Original

If you can't actually be the best basketball player on the court, you can at least look like the best basketball player on the court. Imagine, if you will, a young man walking into a swagless middle school gym for a weekend men's league game. He's got Dwyane Wade leggings under his shorts and custom Durant VI's. Meanwhile, his teammates are rocking outlet cross trainers and ACE knee braces.

Our hero takes point and the other team put their best defender on him. They are intimidated, they know he's no geek off the street, cause just look at that get-up. He takes a quick transition 3 and the ball sails to the hoop...air ball. The other team quickly switches off him and realizes he's a fraud, that he hasn't earned his keep, and he's not really handy with the steel. Our fallen hero ends up going 1-for-7 and with two assists and one pulled hammie.

For the most part, authors are a well-dressed bunch: Hemingway, Beckett, Thompson Jr., etc. So if you feel like the written word is where your true life's meaning is at, then the first step is to drop even more student debt on a completely next-level wardrobe that'll let you stunt in cafés and the EBT line (duh, you're a writer). Once your devil-may-care look is on point, it's time to start putting pen to paper, which is when you realize that you've spent all your dough on dope professorial clothing and spend absolutely no time thinking of any sort of story or subject. You are now a broke and dumb writer. But trust, you are not the only one facing this dilemma.

People can be generally divided into two categories. Those who put on their shittiest sweats for an airplane ride and the rare handful who dress up for an airborne journey. If you're of the latter, then you undoubtedly fancy yourself above the cattle that are packed into a metal tube and strut down the aisle like it's a goddamn runway. Your confidence only increases as a flight attendant recognizes your classiness and puts you up in Fist Class (okay, Economy Plus, but one can dream).

Due to your new Bawse status, you start ordering mini-bottles like a Bawse until you're blackout drunk 35,000 feet in the air. A few temper tantrums and one sexual harrassment outburst later and you're forcing the plane down in what is normally flyover country, getting escorted off the plane in cuffs. But hey, at least you're now the best-dressed dude in Toledo.

If you're trynna break into the street style photography game, do you know what's more important than the subject in front of the lens? The steezy motherfucker behind the lens. Looking like a legit photographer is one of the main differences between "an NYU student working on their portfolio" and "a freelance photographer living in Brooklyn." It also helps if you have more than one camera, even if the other one doesn't work. But to you, the camera is just another accessory to keep your levels next. Unfortunately, when a girl finally convinces you to show her your blurry, dark photos, you're exposed as a fraud. This is when you cop a disposable camera and say you're going analog.

Real life kind of sucks. Why anyone would want to venture beyond the safety of the Internet and physically interact with another human being is beyond comprehension. But, if you want to get down like that, at least make sure you look as cool as someone who has a low follower to engagement ratio. Roll up to the Twitter meet-up at the cash bar with swag on a hundred thousand trillion and stunt for a few minutes before you open your mouth and absolutely zero of the wit that exists in your timeline pours out. The gap between how you look and your general personality is the biggest disappointment of the party. That and the fact that no girls showed up.

Judgemental assholes will straight tell you like it is at Hogwarts. You can't just walk off the train as a first year wizard with big bro's old wand and get-up. Even if you stomp into the Great Hall for the Sorting Ceremony snapping necks with your Aimé Leon Dore thermal-lined cloak or Cam'ron x Mark McNairy cape, the Sorting Hat sees past your superficial swag and into what really matters: your inner swag. 

27 remains a mythical age and a strange barometer of success. If you manage to live beyond your 27th year on this planet, then that's more than a lot of others can say. But this is also the demarcation of when you stop being considered an amicable jackass and instead an ornery embodiment of mediocrity. At this point in life, you hopefully have enough dough to put together a solid wardrobe, because at this point dressing well is one of the key factors to someone describing you as, "Oh, he's still in his twenties," rather than, "Oh, he's almost thirty..." But once people learn both your age and your lack of accomplishments, the veneer is compromised.

"Making a great first impression is just as important as being qualified," you tell yourself as you spend a crucial hour debating whether or not to go air-tie, and finally decide on white tee and flannel. As you head into the office of the dream job, you look around and smugly make a note that you're definitely going to get best-dressed at the company holiday party. It only realizes how little you've prepared when the person interviewing you looks up, sees you, and yells out, "Hey, who ordered pizza?"

This is the same sister that your friend would kill you over if you said anything remotely suggestive in high school. Now that you're all in your twenties, the safe zone of "being a creepy older dude" has gotten wider and it's completely okay if you want to to try and float into her DMs at her college graduation party. You come through swagged out rocking a fresh look that's both dope and age-appropriate.

But you forgot that most kids in college use their clothing as both sartorial garments and beer rags. Sticking out like a sore thumb as the old dude at the party makes you uncomfortable, so you decide to show these young bucks how to really turn up. You also forgot that kids these days butt-chug with abandon and can out-drink a fish. Soon you're vomiting all over your expensive gear and your friend's sister is documenting it on some social media platform you've never heard of.

Wow, you did it. You took a Tinder profile pic with such a skrong look that you're actually getting matches. Before you know it, you have to turn off the alerts because they're draining your battery, all thanks to the dope clothing (and selfie angles) you had on, but you're obviously still utilizing the "all-right-everything" method that ensures maximum potential. Little do you know it, but your 'fit is so ill that girls are swiping right on you without even looking at your face. Soon, you're matching up with friends, co-workers, and cousins. You come off as a pervert, and die alone.