The 9 Circles Of #Menswear Hell

Sup, you fuckin' mortals? When life finally logs you out due to inactivity, you’ll either be whisked away to #Menswear Heaven on the smelted down, crepe sole wings of angels or flung headlong through the infernal keyhole to #Menswear Hell. #Menswear Hell abides by it’s own rules: no gods, no masters. The #menswear legacy you left behind on earf determines what special punishment you’re subjected to for all of time. Doesn’t that sound like the brie’s cheese? If you haven’t yet read Dante’s Inferno—as I’m sure all you Kindle-having pariahs have meant to—spoilers abound.

Rick Morrison is a writer living in North Carolina. Follow him on Twitter here.

First Circle: Limbo

Charon ushers you across the River Styx to the first circle of #Menswear Hell, resided by stylish non-bloggers and unpublished style writers who are punished with an eternity in a two-bit version of #Menswear Heaven. These are the people who never fully embraced—or contributed to—#menswear.

Second Circle: Lust

The second circle is roosted by those #menswear heads who lusted after grail items and limited drops, but never took the plunge and put an AmEx ring on it. These are the cats who Instagram POV shoe shots in the store without buying, reblog without adding to cart and mentally curate their fantasy wardrobes, while walking around in Fila sweats and warped white tees.

Third Circle: Gluttony

On the other side of the to-cop-or-not-cop spectrum are the gluttons. These are the sinners who hit every sale, BOGO and eBay listing, resulting in a scattershot wardrobe of shit that represents less of a sense of style than it does America’s desire to buy now and pose questions later. In this circle all those questions are answered with an unrelenting rain, the sound of which is only broken by the sound of Cerberus—the three-headed #menswear doge—devouring the damned, sending one message: You done fucked up, bruh.

Fourth Circle: Greed

If you bought Kanye x A.P.C. jeans, or won a pair of Yeezys only to flip them at a ridic markup, you’ll find yourself cozied up in this circle for the #afterlife. Plutus, the wolfen demon of wealth, dwells here, plucking bombers off the backs of the damned to poop bones into.

Fifth Circle: Anger

The fifth circle of hell is reserved for all you hot-headed cats who take shots at your alphets mad personally and/or those of you who catch feelings on the Internet and treat comment sections like a pillow you can scream into. In Dante's Inferno the angry are condemned to fistfight in the River Styx. #Menswear Hell is no different, except there's a camera crew filming it, helmed by a hypeman yelling, "WORLDSTAR! WORLDSTAR! NO JUMP-INS! NO JUMP-INS!"

Sixth Circle: Heresy

As you burrow deeper into #Menswear Hell’s fiery butthole, you encounter Satan’s wretched, walled city, marking the threshold to the sixth circle. Here, #menswear heretics—those who chose to act and dress in direct opposition to #menswear dictum—burn in flaming sepulchers, rapping at the door of their tombs, letting out a doleful, "C’mon, bro! I was just doin' me!"

Seventh Circle: Violence

In light of recent, idiotic events, I won’t dwell on this one. But suffice it to say, if you employ jail yard tactics to get other people’s jawnz, you died long before you thought you did #nobuzzkill.

Eighth Circle: Fraud

If you’ve ever sucked up to a #menswear demigod to namedrop your Tumblrgram, pawned off a fake whathaveyou as being authentic or made crazy wild alterations to a knockoff—something to deceive the masses—you and all the other scheming bumbaclots will spend eternity locked in an impossibly winnable one-upmanship grapple.

Ninth Circle: Treachery

In this, the deepest level of #Menswear Hell, Satan himself resides. His wings of skin flap eternally, creating an icy vortex that freezes traitors in laughable poses, while they ruminate on the innumerable life fouls they’ve committed. If you've ever throw a compatriot under the Bolt Bus, you will find yourself saddled with a one-way ticket to this demonic little snow cone. YUMMM, traitors.