BLACKBOOK MAGAZINE CITY GUIDE: VANCOUVER
Get in on this. Hipsters Remixed.

Wear your faux monetary value on your faux leather sleeve, and swank it up like a back combed daddy's girl straight out of the Hampton Hills. Put the Prada back in Com padre and peel your pissy buddies off the lap of Main St and get legitimate Downtown style. Feeling rich, feels great. Cocaine and limos baby, get sloshed on dollah dollah, just once.

If you haven't a dime, like me, start up a jar. This is your fancy jar. When your fancy jar is full, and your pupils morph into Dollar sign$, use the innards of said jar to buy an outfit (a fucking classy one). If this wreaks of failure, IE one weekend of binge drinking later, just get some old shitty clothes tailored to LOOK nice. Fake class is the point, so it'll do in a jiff, and it usually costs about 10 bones an item.

Get someone who knows what they're doing to fix your hair, men, and girls- well, you were born classy so do what the gods intended. The point is to not tip off every posh bitch in the city that you're wearing underwear from costco inside your Tom Brown slacks.


Once everyone's all pretty, rent the Limo, and follow Blackbook's Guide To Vancouver . It's not much, usually cheaper than cabbing about- and the drivers are innately gifted in the art of being your new best friend. They come from a bloodline of butlers and men in suits. They are better than you, but never let them know it- or they'll expect a bigger tip.

Finally, get wasted. Act a mess. Embarrass yourself. Get high, tousled, and rude. Get dragged away kicking and screaming. Just make sure to take pictures, and send them to me, because I think this shit is just to die for.

With Love and Admiration,

Mader