"Ok, I'm in front of the bar. I'm wearing pink and my stomach is hanging out. You can't miss me."

Pink. The new black. No, I'm not being funny. Where do I start with this collection of badness?

This women stands alone, waiting for a bouncer to feel bad for her and not charge her the cover. She's having the"cover conversation" on her cell. (You know the one that says to the world "I have friends. I swear. I'm talking to them right now. Really!" But actually you're listening to your voicemail prompts.)

The ripped pink top was cool. And not too long ago. Roughly 10-12 years ago during the hammer pants era. They were worn by both men and women. Typically not with a white, poorly studded belt and matching shoes. But with paint splattered pants made of jersey cotton. So at least she is decades ahead of some of the others we spotted.

None the less, we are once again stopped in the middle of the street taking pictures of someone in the group. Only to later crop them out and zoom in on another "at least dress for your weight" clueless, bystander in the back ground.