THE BOULEVARDIER: Let’s go to the ‘burbs

Every week, our Boulevardier, Marq Frerichs, considers matters related to men’s style. This week: Live from the Ex!

So here it is: Your get-out-of-jail style card. With this, you have the unquestionable right not to care about what you wear, do, or eat. This is not a “dressing down” card, nor is it a “slumming it” pass—it’s a go-to-your-closet-close-your-eyes-yank-out-whatevs-your-hand-touches-and-put-it-on kinda thing. Everything I’ve mentioned, prodded, cajoled, hinted-at in this column: FORGET ABOUT IT. “Let’s Go To The Ex, oh, baby!”

It’s been awhile since I’ve experienced the pleasure of the Canadian National Exhibition. In fact, I hardly recognized it. I did, however, recognize the distinct look of its patrons. Lots of sugar-glazed eyes; the giddy, slightly seasick gait. The Greeks had a name for over-indulgence and he manifests himself here. Sugar, sunshine, adrenaline-pumping rides, gambling and lots of scantily clad youths.

You’ll see him strutting through the midway from a mile away.

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