Rate My Windy City Smokeout Garb

Last night the Windy City Smokeout kicked off and it was fantastic as always. The world is actually hashtag back. Since it's a country concert, I had to dress for the part. Naturally I went to Alcala's on Chicago and Ashland and dropped hundreds of dollars on boots, a shirt, jeans, and a bolo tie:

I pull off the black on black look better than Johnny Cash himself. Girls were slipping in puddles of their own wetness every time I'd suavely tip my hat at them and say "Evenin' ma'am." 

To put it simply, I looked great. But that didn't stop my envious, asshole coworkers from trying to bring me down by starting a photoshop contest at my expense:

...And on and on it went. Their attempts at bringing me down were pathetic and childish, but I also get it - they want pussy too. Can't get pussy when there is no pussy to get because someone else has every last bit of it. Their efforts died in vain, though; girls are doing their walk of shame from my 650 square foot Lincoln Park apartment as I speak.

Aka I went to an after bar with some 20 something year old girl at the concert, lost her at said bar, and passed out 5 mins into watching "How To Become A Tyrant" on Netflix with a huge dip in my mouth that was still there when I woke up this morning.