Credit Where Due

In the spirit of giving credit when it's due, at least the designer had the decency to make the fabric solid in the, um, pelvic region.  He or she didn't have to extend us that courtesy, you know.

Knitter's Pr0n...?

I guess knitters were supposed to like this pose because it involves balls of yarn...

Because, really, who doesn't love to knit (or... untangle a ball of yarn) while leaning against a dusty ladder in the corner of a structure that is either in the process of demolition or ought to be?  I don't know about you, but I can't get enough of pretending I'm in a horror movie, seconds from becoming the latest victim of the monster du jour. 

However-- who in the heck thought it was a good idea to toss those lovely balls of delicate yarn on the dusty, dirty floor?!?  SHOCKING.

Also... what's with the random scattering of dominoes...?  Like the scene wasn't quite weird enough without them...

(It's just one thing after another with this photo!)

Dejected Model

If that whimsical mural can't pull Yuuka out of this deep bout of depression, I fear nothing can...

Yee-Haw

For those times when you want to look like a stereotypical hick-- you know, squint-eyed, wearing a raggedy hat, dirt on your knees, and a piece of straw clutched between your teeth-- you might want to consider making and wearing this sweater:

Or at least that must be the impression the person who set up this photo wanted to create.

Sad Birthday

Sometimes you have to wonder what led to certain sets and props in a fashion photo shoot.  Were they trying to tell a story?  Or did they just throw together whatever the heck they could lay hands on at the last minute?

Like the photo below. . .  It strikes me as either (A) a random mishmash of imagery or (B) a very sad birthday scene:

Dominique smiled painfully through the welling tears as he clutched the phone, savoring the last few seconds of the call.  At least he'd had the sound of her voice-- her sweet, sweet voice.  He swore in his heart that next year he would be with her, no longer held captive in this dilapedated (not to mention rather depressing) perch above the rocky shoreline, like some tragic Tweety Bird in a cabled sweater and slacks.   Happy birthday to me, he thought grimly before blowing out the candles. . .

She'd Broken His Heart, Along with the Engagement. . .

He hurled the engagement ring into the sea, cursing the day he'd met her. . .

. . . and then he promptly walked back to his car and drove away, because, really, who dresses like this to spend a day at the beach?