Throw Me In The Fashion House

by thoughtsonthedead

Bobby called a meeting in 1981 to discuss creating a pret-a-porter line.

“Guys, thanks for coming to this meeting: it’s 1981, and I think we should create a pret-a-porter line.”

The rest of the Dead agreed, and disagreed, and ignored him, and smiled politely and wore his name tag so no one called him Keith. Phil was against clothing the masses in principle, unless they were very flabby or old, in which case Phil advocated clothing the shit out of them.

Garcia was wary that this would eat away at the prestige of the haute line: it was by design that the Dead’s fashion wasn’t for everyone. Also, Garcia sensed this was more work.

“Sure, Big Guy–”

“Don’t call me that.”

“–the Enthusiasts have loved our style, but now it’s time to bring it to department stores and Woolworth’s and Orange Julius and wherever else normal people buy their clothes; I don’t really know where, if we’re honest.”

“When you say clothes,” Mickey asked, “did you mean shirts? Specifically, shirts of the ‘T’ variety?”

“Sure, yeah.”

“Would said shirts have Dead bullshit on them?”

“All over.”

“And would said shirts with Dead bullshit all over them be left unattended for any amount of time?”

“Most likely.”

“I’m in.”

Billy was in the kitchen pointing a pistol at the toaster; he was not materially involved in the discussion.

Bobby pulled out a sketchbook and showed Garcia some of his drawings: he could do a helicopter really well, and a neat Austrian village covered in snow; there were also many detailed drawings of dicks. Then Garcia told Bobby to stop screwing around and Bobby got the sketchbook with the fashion stuff in it.

And then, because it was 1981, Bobby made some calls to shady dudes who chiseled some money out of a bank, or filched some small town’s budget for the year. Nowadays, the Dead could just call the bank directly for the money, but back then serious adults had to pretend to be above this sort of thing.

“Guys, we have the money; we have the talent; we have a simply enormous list of Deadheads who know how to sew and will work for free or sex: let’s make us some fashion.”

BLAM!

“Bill?”

“It was him or me, man.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

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