Misplaced Appetite. 8.75 inches x 11.75 inches (11.75 inches x 32 inches when hung), 76 pages, 2021. magazine clippings collected when I was a teenager and found by my mother thirty years later, repurposed file folders, concertina with multiple compound bindings, designed to hang unfolded by either the front cover or back cover revealing two different views.

“Say you’re an individual individual, a 90’s kind of guy. What does that mean? It means preparing for a decade that may yet be more conservative than the ’50s, more revolutionary than the 60’s, more schizophrenic than the ’70s, more swinish than the ’80s. It means no guarantee of a six-figure salary by the age of thirty. So what? Work for pleasure. (And be sure to get paid.) Be a comedian. Be an architect, congressman, P.R man, police frogman, Hollywood agent, priest, cowboy, boudoir photographer, archaeologist, fashion designer, props builder, car designer, brewer, human-rights investigator, artist, rocket scientist [pages 52-73]. Or open an ad agency with no clients [page 80]. And, being an individual, dress the part. Make a personal statement, not a personnel statement. Find a white shirt [pages 74-79] that works as well for nine-to-five as six-to-twelve, and an unstuffed suit [pages 88-93] in any shade of black or white except flannel gray. And if you’re not able to get off to Jamaica this weekend, dress like you’re already there.”

Details magazine, May 1991