He's It

Style Tag: Sade and Prince's Guitar Player, Ryan Waters

If you perform next to a guy who wears purple velvet and ruffled shirt, your style game better be on. But not too on.

By Laura Cassidy May 1, 2014

Seattle is home to not-a-few touring musicians, but to my knowledge, today's Style Tag is the only one who jets around to the tune of "Little Red Corvette" and "The Sweetest Taboo." Just saying. Not implying one tour is better than other, just saying: the artist formerly known as. Okay? Still, if I know anything about professional session and touring musicians—and I do, but that's for another day—I know that immediately following talent, the requirement for success is a sort of laid-back ease. After all, no matter how big the stadium, there's likely only room for one Prince-sized ego.

Tagged by his talented wife Tariqa Waters

Wearing Apart from the random thrift-store pair of black jeans, the rest of my get-up consists of pieces gifted to me by my better (and considerably more stylish) half. The vintage Johnny Thunders T-Shirt and black hat came from Bon Voyage Vintage in Pioneer Square, far and away our favorite and most frequented shop in the city. The Converse Chuck Taylor rain boots were a birthday gift soon after our move to Seattle. I wear Chucks almost exclusively and these fare much better than my old canvas classics in Seattle weather. My mini pocket knife necklace came from E. Smith Mercantile and the scarf was picked up from the gift shop at SAM.

Style in three words Modest rock star

Closet you'd most like to raid I’d love to rummage through the closet of the narrator from Fight Club—the book, not the film. For starters, a split personality is a damn good character trait to look for in someone who’s closet you’re going to raid; a two-for-one deal if you will. My sense of style is very much rooted in economy and function; I dress pragmatically and I think I’d find the perfect selection of everyman staples on one side of the narrator’s closet. Of course, on the other side of the closet, strewn about in blood and piss-stained piles, I’d find Tyler Durden’s wardrobe. Sincere anarchy and punk irreverence epitomized. Not the campy, Brad Pitt thrift shop polyester punk from the film, but the indestructible leather and unwashed, sweat-stiff denim that I imagine the literary Tyler Durden would wear. I think if I could pull from each side of that closet at will every morning when I get dressed, I’d never shop again.

Digital inspiration YouTube clips of James Brown from 1968 and TMZ


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