Philadelphia Street Style: Shana, 16th St

Shana's wearing a vintage J Crew sweater, a scarf from Forever 21, vintage, DIYed jeans, and a pair of ten-eye Doc Martens. Notice how no one ever seems to lace them up completely anymore. They are worn loose and floppy. In my day (says the old man professor) we used to tie them as tight as possible. You needed a special training session as to how to get the tie just right. Docs were nothing if not cultish.

Shana describes her style as "retro, and a bit Afro-centric." She likes music that is "just fun," though particularly soul and R&B.

Philadelphia Street Style: Emily, Walnut St

Emily is a hairstylist and tells me that everything she wears "has to compliment the hair." Otherwise, her style is "comfort meets unique." She wears lots of vintage, solids, and basics. Her skirt is Forever 21. Her bodysuit is American Apparel. Her jacket is thrifted. Her tights are Target. Her boots are vegan Doc Martens. And her sunglasses are Ray-Ban. She describes her musical taste as "terrible music, like Miley Cyrus." She'll listen to anything "horrible," and mainly stuff from the Billboard Top-100.

Philadelphia Street Style: Melissa, Baxter, and Breezy on Pine St

Melissa is wearing a Joyce Leslie dress ("I usually don't like their stuff but this one was cool"), Dr. Martens boots, and a pair of Urban Outfitters tights shredded by "these little bastards." I probably should have inquired about Breezy's T-shirt as well. 

Philadelphia Street Style: Taylor, S Juniper St

 

Jasmine, Walnut St.

I swear I didn't know she was a Dr. Martens store employee until I had already taken these shots.I thought I was through with that racket. Still, I must say, they hire some cool-looking people. 

Dr. Martens' Master Plan: Put Cool People on the Crate and the Bloggers Will Come — Skyler, Walnut St

Skyler is my second model from the Walnut St. Dr. Martens store. I shot Christina there a couple weeks back. Two of his coworkers were there too. One asked if I could get the logo in the shot. There it is, or most of it anyway.

"Now it's three of us," one of his co-workers said, referring to the number of them who'd been shot by street style bloggers. But they couldn't be sure. Might have just been two. They knew Christina was one of them. 

"Skyler's a natural," one of his co-workers said. True enough. I like the blur in this image. It gives the impression that he's surrounded by people but still alone.

The Nylon Style Recycled — Kevin, Walnut St.

Looking back at these pictures I had a sense of deja vu. They had Nylon's global street style book written all over them. I'm not sure who did the appropriating here, me or Kevin, but there's something distinctly London early '00s about both the look and my photograph of it. 

Which begs the question: is there such thing as an original street style image? And is there any such thing as an original style? Or we all just recycling all the time — both in what we wear and in how we document what other people wear? At the very least, we recognize someone as worthy of being photographed by virtue of their resemblance to other photographs we have previously seen. I like Kevin's look. And I like it precisely because of its familiarity. It conjures something up in me — like a half-remembered memory. 

Christina, Dr. Martens Store, Walnut St.

Christina is an almost pitch perfect spokesperson for Dr. Marten's shoes. It's not surprising, then, that she works for them. She was seated atop a shipping crate in front of the Walnut St. store when I passed by.

Christina's look is something of an update of old school British skinhead. And by "old school" I mean early 1960s, when working class London lads shaved their heads and donned Fred Perry and Ben Sherman in imitation of their Rude Boy West Indian immigrant neighbors. In other words, I'm talking about the skinhead style that predates the later neo-Nazi affiliations it would eventually take on. There is something tough but vulnerable about her look that I find quite appealing.  

And check out those shoes! Just in the last couple years I've rekindled my love affair with Docs. I bought my first pair as a 15-year old Sacramento goth kid and my most recent in a fit of nostalgia in an LA discount shoe store. Dr. Martens' have been a staple of subcultural fashion since the 1960s, and have been worn by skinheads, punks, goths, industrialites, indie scenesters, and assorted other thick boot fetishists ever since. It seems, however, that in the last year or two they have substantially expanded their audience base. They have a large, upmarket boutique on Walnut St. now, and I've noticed them on a variety of feet, most notably, perhaps, among the skinny-jeaned hipster-hop set.