Getting awesome with Tommy Up
Dear Striped Shirt Guy,
You know that bartender who high-fives you every time he serves up another round of overpriced rum and Cokes? The one you drop a $20 to every night because he's your boy? The one you call "Chief" and sometimes "Boss"? Yup, that bartender. He hates you. It's not really your fault, though. It's the striped shirt.
Remember that time the administrative assistant with the librarian glasses and the tight skirt everyone's been losing their minds over in your office finally let you take her to Striped Bass? The one you really impressed with that perfect wine you Googled, and then she wouldn't take you back to her apartment? 'Cause even though she had a really nice time and all, you guys do work together? She's totally fucking some dirty hipster she met at Johnny Brenda's who rides a bike to work. Trust me. Again, not your fault. It's the striped shirt.
How about when your crew walked out of the elevator onto the roofdeck of the Mid-Town with your matching Gotti brothers gelled hair, and you all knew the girls there were going to lose their shit? And then you guys struck out 'cause that place was full of gold diggers and fat chicks anyway, so you went to Denim and bought a $300 bottle of Hennessy 'cause it's gangsta? Did you notice anything you and your boys had in common? Uh huh. Striped shirts down to the last man.
Look, I know you're different. I know you don't valet your Audi, and deep down you're really a nice dude. I know about the time you gave that homeless guy $5 because you really do feel guilty about slavery. I know your striped shirt is unique and special and you bought it at Kenneth Cole.
Seriously, I'm on your side, so before you pull that striped shirt out of the closet, button it up and spray the fuck out of yourself with Axe Body Spray for Men, do yourself a favor. Think before you stripe. Just think.
Holla at party thrower and subversive marketing genius Tommy Up at firstname.lastname@example.org