What Your Favorite #Menswear Brand Says About You

You can quote every Yasiin Bey anti-materialism lyric, but when you heard him name-drop Isaia, you immediately copped a $3,500 suit. Now you study photos from Pitti Uomo to learn how to actually pull off this loud-ass suit.

The sight of visvim's price tags make normal men faint, but you've been hardened by years of living hand-to-mouth and sleeping in a hand-made tepee. Oh, and your dad's a venture capitalist who caked off Facebook.

You reblog the fuck out of every Ovadia image on Tumblr, but can't afford a single piece. When your favorite twins did a collection for Gap, you were outraged on Twitter, and yet you copped every item the second it dropped at your local mall.

LOLing at these #menswear dudes who only care about letting their Thom Browne stripes show. Fuck a boutique, you're skating from $15 Oxford shirts straight to the mall's Panda Express.

You think accessories = personality. Even though you own 37 ties, you're more likely to get grease from your chorizo burrito on your neckwear game than wear one into a job that requires a tie.

You spend too much time on hypebeast forums to ever leave the crib and face Mother Nature, but you just spent over $1,000 on a rain jacket.

The closest you ever got to achieving your dream of living on the cold Atlantic coastline was that one time you went to the Jersey Shore. You tried to order a Guinness, but you could only get an Irish Car Bomb.

You look down at the guys who shop at J. Crew, but you both look the same and your wallet is twice as light. Maybe you just want to support Iowans.

When you were young the rich kids wouldn't let you play with their awesome toys, and you were stuck with a cardboard box. But within that cardboard box you dreamt up the Bourgeoisie American life you imagined the rich kids lived. After selling your app company for billions, you can now instantly cop that lifestyle without blinking an eye. The dream may not be a reality, but the aspiration is.

You either live in Alaska, watch way too many episodes of Mountain Men, or feel that two layers of 24-ounce wool is the only way to beat winter. Regardless, you haven't owned a garment that's been washed in the past three calendar years.

You came here for clothes that are "office-appropriate," and then fell into a #menswear rabbit hole. You wake up days later with no recollection of what happened, but you're surrounded by chambray and wearing pants that fit. Oh, and you speak in hashtags now.

You actually wore your first pair of raw denim into the ocean and rolled around in the sand. You claim to be a sensible minimalist, but you copped several pieces of every style from the Kanye collaboration. You'll never live in Paris.

Your version of having a good time is throwing on a "Fun Shirt," cracking open a 30 of Natty, and reminiscing with Chad and Teddy about that rager your frat threw that ruled so hard three kids died. To you, people who don't use summer as a verb are referred to as "poors."

You wanted to write the "Next Great American Menswear Blog." Instead, you just look like an old Italian guy weirdly hanging out with dudes who dress exactly alike.

You own more camo than an army brigade. You smoked cigarettes at age 10. Your favorite word is "Fuck." Your second favorite word is "Collaboration."

You've never met an investment piece you didn't invest in. You're either the worst investor or the best investor of all time—depends on how you feel about mismatched shoes.

"What the fuck is a hashtag?" you mutter as you hold open the door of your 1967 Alfa Romeo Tipo 33 Stradale for a woman who is so blindingly beautiful you have to make love with your Tom Ford sunglasses on. Then you zoom off into the stunning countryside, running over peasants and #menswear bloggers who are walking along the side of the road.