The ol’ party shirt – an institution as old as time itself. My family in particular, places great value on our collection of shirts, handed down from generation to generation with great prestige, family history and a faint whiff of body odour. Forget Great Auntie Maude’s fur and pearls – her gnarly assortment of party shirts are the real prize. The uglier the print, the more respect.
Having been born with ‘youngest child syndrome’, an often cruel ailment that comes with a lifetime guarantee of beat downs and torment, I have been pipped at the post by my older brothers in the race to inherit our family’s shirts. Eldest son and all that jazz, so I have been forced to dive into the taboo world of party shirts all by my very hesitant, lonesome self – bit of a punch in the throat really.
Turns out, I didn’t have to look far. The legends down at Ksubi have created some pretty badass stuff for all of the deprived, youngest children out there. This superb example of a shirt puts Aunt Maude’s to utter shame plus it comes sans food stains and sweat marks, you ripper. Despite my raw deal, I learnt a few really meaningful things along the way. Turns out that you don’t have to have any chilled bird tattoos, a chilled beard or a chilled Instagram feed to wear a party shirt, who would’ve guessed?
Wearing: Ksubi ‘Paradise’ shirt, Aje ‘Catara’ skirt, Chanel Boy bag, Asos bralet
Photos: Anastasia Borrelli
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