Fashion

Justin Bieber Wears Hoodie on Hot NYC Day with Hailey Baldwin

This isn't Los Angeles, Justin Bieber. There are rules here.
IMAGE Getty Images/ James Devaney
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Before we begin, I must say, and I truly mean this: I fancy myself a Belieber. But dude, when this photo was taken (August 6) it was a muggy 91 degrees Fahrenheit in New York City. And although your hoodie and track pants look is indeed fire—you've unnecessarily raised your own "feels like" temp into triple digits. 

This is quite literally not chill. 


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I will give you this. You've been thriving in the Summer of Sleaze—a term coined by Esquire senior style editor Jonathan Evans to describe the influx of admirable summer '18 fits that scream both "I miss Four Pins," and "I will be using only my dirty hands to pick at this graduation party charcuterie." 

Looking like a scumbag has never been more on-trend, and sir, you've been looking like a stylish scumbag well before MoMA PS1 Warm-Up parties were filled with them. I'm a fan of your wispy-but-unignorable mustache and generally disinterested facial expressions, but I'm not a fan of you bringing that winter-clothes-in-summer L.A. bullshit to my city*. 

I know on the left coast, all the scumbags have been (as Complex once eloquently stated) "rocking beanies in the summertime like chumps" for years now. And I know that sentiment has extended to long sleeves and pants, too. But here in New York, when an air conditioner drips and the liquid miraculously misses our mouths, we'd prefer it to hit some skin and provide us with a little cool down. You can't accomplish that in your UNKNWN Arch hoodie (on sale right here!).

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I think I'd be willing to let this go without comment had you not done this twice in three days. The above photo, from August 4, was the first sign of a necessary intervention. But as temperatures remained in the 90s, you went ahead and doubled down putting up your dang hood. Have you learned nothing from your appropriately dressed fiancée Hailey Baldwin? 

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My only comfort came today, August 7, when you decided to sport a much more NYC-friendly sleaze 'fit, featuring an absence of shirt, visible underwear, and basketball shorts. This is what I, myself, wear to the bodegas on Sundays around 2:30 p.m. to procure my breakfast. Par for the course for a north-Brooklyn scumbag like myself. 


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Listen, JB. I'm thrilled you and HB are spending some time in the city. I was so excited to see you spotted at Frankel's Deli in my neighborhood that I then went to Frankel's Deli in my neighborhood. But in New York City, we have rules. One of them is that in the summer we all sweat profusely and unapologetically. Another is that we reserve the right to ridicule all Los Angeles specimens who dare bring their inappropriate warm-weather dress into our heat-stroke-waiting-to-happen of a concrete jungle. 

*I'm from Pittsburgh.

This story originally appeared on Esquire.com. Minor edits have been made by the Esquiremag.ph editors.

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