Forgive me father for I have sinned. Well, at least I think I did, in my head I flirted with the possibility of slithering down a revolting road often travelled by dodgy looking older dudes in night clubs. As much as I would love to drown in guilt, I derived plenty pleasure when starring at this lady in this pic. Wait, let me narrate it properly; I happened to saunter into a dancehall club one odd Saturday, much like I had always imagined I would find myself mysteriously emerging backstage from a Raf Simons fashion show. Back to it; there I was, at this amazing underground spot forging a young gyrating session to a live band and out of nowhere, my eyes gravitated an overwhelming fixation this one gal. I wish I could contend that it was a harmless stare, but you should have seen her father, you shouls have been there, everything about her seemed to boast just the right amount of awesomeness and I don’t think she was even trying to out-awesome herself on that evening. I felt little too comfortable (way too comfortable actually) in my creepy propensity and followed her around as she took a moment out of her dance partner’s arms. She strutted outside to tick and type all over her cellular phone, that’s when I knew what it I loved the most about this stranger lady’s presence; her kick-ass styling technique is all kinds of FRESH. I have hardly gone easy on speaking about her, ever since those 52.3 seconds shared between me, my camera and her. Men’s style brogues = CHECK! Printed dungarees = CHECK! White long-sleeved crop top with a large hoodie detail = CHECK! Canary yellow head-wrap = CHECK. I’m sure you understand father, this human was too phly to not go into raptures over.