What the...?!?!

So, I started writing a post that was all kinds of introspective. But the St. Christopher gerwertztraminer kinda snuck up on me. So, instead, I am posting a reader submission. (One should never drink and blog.) Please see below.

My cousin sent this to me as a submission for the hot daggone mess portion chapter of the book. Can I just say, I'm traumatized? Possibly for life. Bad fashion is one thing. But this goes beyond bad fashion to straight out assault and battery on my eyes. To quote a recent commenter...what in the sam damn hell?! *shudder*

That's a [insert expletive] Shame!

I try to remember, when I'm at the club, that people are cutting loose and hanging out. I know that for the most part, folks are wearing clothing that reflects a caricature of themselves and that they probably don't have on something they might wear when the sun comes up. (At least, this is what I hope.) Therefore, the fashion police radar is usually relaxed. However, I've found that despite the relaxed rules, when you're looking at what people wear in the club, the fashion violations are likely to be extra egregious.

Well, last night was no exception. I found myself staring at an outfit that was the definition of, the very incarnation of, a HOT DAMN MESS. The first and most noticeable piece of the outfit was the brown fishnet top. It was long-sleeved, cropped, and fitted. Ok, I guess. If you're bringing the 80s back with a scoopneck, off-the-shoulder, Madonna-esque fishnet situation, cool. Combine it with those crazy ripped jeans (in white) (and skinny cut) then hey. Do you, girlfriend! Throw on a colorful tank and you'll have your own groove goin' on. Except...your girl did NOT throw on a colorful tank. No, she had on a leopard print bra. A LEOPARD PRINT BRA?! Are you sure you meant to come outside like that?

Of course, after seeing the fit-out*, I couldn't stop staring. Which I acknowledge is so wrong. Like, who do I think I am? Stacy London? We weren't filming an episode of What Not to Wear. Anyway, in an effort to be less judgmental (or at least, keep my judgment to myself), I didn't even mention the fit-out to anyone! I kept all my bitchy comments to myself.** Of course, given that I was out with my cousins, and we all inherited a certain snarkiness, my attempts at keeping quiet were thwarted when Cuzo said "Psst. Did you see what your girl has on?!!?" And we commenced with the obligatory eye-rolling. At that point, I whipped out the camera phone, because frankly, no one would believe me without photographic evidence. Behold...what we were looking at:

It wasn't until I got up to (covertly) snap the pic that I discovered the last two straws that broke the camel's back, leg, and toe (pun intended). Let's start with the least obvious thing in the picture -- and a backhanded compliment. Girl is wearing some badass shoes. They are tan and brown zebra print and from behind they look like suede booties. But wait a second. Zwwwrrrrr. Rewind!! I said zebra print. Remember when the bra was leopard print? Aren't those two different animals?!

And now, the pièce de résistance....The little bejeweled heart in the general vicinity of where a tramp stamp belongs. Notice the trifecta of white strings? Now...do what I did. Take a few moments to put 2 and 2 together. BINGO! That's her thong! So basically, she was "fully" clothed, and yet I could see each and every foundational garment that she had on. Wow dude. Wow. I mean, for real. Wow.

By the way -- this was not taken in Vegas. Just in case you were hoping for a logical explanation.

*As opposed to an outfit, of course.

**This is progress, people.

Big Girl Pant....

As you all know, I love a lot of things, none of them are what I do for a living. But, until such time I'm able to make money off of watching football and shopping for myself and friends, I'll just have to fulfill my dreams in my blog rantings. Today, I'm going to use my love of fashion as the basis for my post. I draw your attention to the picture below:

You know what this is a picture of? It's a picture of a fashion travesty. Before you even say it, no, I am not hatin' on her Daisy Dukes. (Ok, yes I am). Admittedly, I am jealous. I wish I had legs for days that did not create an uncomfortable rise of the inseam into my nether regions thanks to the chub rub* that is the meeting of my thighs. So, while I am totally hatin' on her for her figure, I'd like to take that figure and smack the owner around for making such terrible fashion choices.

Starting from the top...why the hell is she wearing her older brother's button down? It's sloppy, it's huge, and it's just generally a wrong choice. Even when it was stylish circa 1986, it was to be worn with skinny jeans or leggings. Not short shorts which would disappear under the curtain of cotton. Ridiculous.

Perhaps most egregiously, however, are the shoes. I couldn't get a good shot of them, but they're pretty nice booties. They're a tan color, suede, with a nice stiletto. Maybe you didn't see that the first time. Rewind. Zwwrrr. They're suede booties. It was 145 degrees outside when I took this picture. It wasn't early spring (aka late winter in Chicago); it wasn't fall; and it wasn't winter. It was freaking summertime! Why is she wearing hot to trot booties when it's too damn hot to trot? And to have the nerve to wear them with dukes? AND her brother's button down? FAIL. Sweetheart? Consider this your first citation. Try to do better. Best regards, the Fashion Police.


*Shout out to kae.dea for that particular turn of phrase.

Whoever said "You can never be too skinny...."

Was probably some skinny bitch and jealous of all the real women around her. If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times...fashion model skinny ain't cuttin' it.

This article covers it very well...basically, lots of gay men chasing youth are placing unnecessary pressure on women to try to look like teenage boys. (That's the article theory, not mine...). No matter the reason, essentially, a lot of people out of touch with reality are creating an image of beauty that doesn't really jive with what regular society calls hot and sexy.

I suspect the fashion moguls are out of touch the way CEOs of companies are out of touch with what really happens on the ground. In retail, the C-suite sets sales goals for different stores in their retail chain. They do this without ever setting foot in some of the stores. So, pray-tell, how do you know how a store is doing? How can you tell what their level of success is, if you truly have no idea what shoppers in that town are thinking? And don't tell me you worked your way up the ranks...even if you had (you didn't), I know for a fact you're overestimating your skills in hindsight.

Oops. I digressed. So what I'm saying is, it's simple. Stop chasing the silly image forced on you from on high (evidently, real high. Acid, maybe?). Instead, re-define your image. See yourself as a sensual, hot mamacita. Not some walking praying-mantis. Think about it. If you saw a praying mantis in real life, you'd either: 1. run away screaming, or 2. (if you're bold) squish the thing. So please explain to me why you want to attempt to look like a giant bobble-headed stick thin green bug? You aren't even the right color to pull that off. Pull your shoulders back, swing your hips, and for goodness sake, let the boys figure out how much time they have left to speak to you when they're staring (hypnotically) at your hourglass shape. I mean seriously -- no such thing as too skinny? Pfft.

You're under arrest....for real

I came across this news story the other day. And, that led me to let out a silent yelp of joy. (It would have been a loud YAWP*** but alas, I was at work.) If I could put together a fashion police force, I would feel a thousand times better. For those who don't want to click on the link, the essence of the article is that a small town in southern Illinois has passed an ordinance outlawing saggy pants. Violators will be subject to a fine.

Ignoring -- for the moment -- the open invitation for racial profiling; I would like to celebrate this particular movement. Sagging pants have been in style since at least the early nineties, if not earlier. (My most recent memory of them is Kris Kross. But then again, their pants were also backwards). Sagging has got to be the single longest running trend, ever. And it just refuses to die! I just don't understand what the hold up is.

We've all heard the stories about how sagging started in prison, and was indicative of who was willing to get down and who wasn't on the homosexuality tip. And that's all well and good. If you want to rock a jailbird trend, far be it from me to judge. For the first decade. But, we are slowly working on decade number 3, and the trend has no signs of stopping. These idiots are walking around with their pants so low I can definitively tell you the color of their underwear. In order to walk, these idiots have to hold their pants up, to keep them from falling down. Frankly, I think they should just stop wearing pants at all.

The most egregious part of the "evolution" of the trend, is the addition of belts. I guess they got tired of hearing the old folks whine about the lack of belts. But, instead of buying a belt of their own size, and subsequently wearing their pants near their waist, the trend is to purchase a belt the size of the pants, and belt the pants at their knees. ARRRRGH.

Aside from the prison overtone, this trend ticks me off for additional reasons. Allow me to list them for you:
1. It makes a man's legs look like they're 2 inches long. I've never wanted a short man; I've never wanted a man who had a disproportionately long torso. And I don't intend to start now!

2. The holding of the pants. If you're walking about holding your pants up to keep them from falling down, you deserve to trip and fall in a puddle, while a dime piece is looking on...laughing at your dumbass.

3. Finally, you have no business asking for my number. Or hell, talking to me at all. If I can't trust you to buy pants your own size, I can't trust you to do a damn thing else.

Cart them all off to jail if you ask me! Fine them for all they got!!! Just sayin'.


***Give yourself 2 points if you caught that reference.

Under Where?

I have declared war on underwear. I HATE wearing underwear. I'm not the biggest fan of going commando either though. So what's a girl to do?

Who decided underwear was necessary anyway? Seriously, what purpose does it serve (aside from the obvious special time of month)? Here's my thing. Some masochist/woman-hater invented the thong. What kind of sane person walks around with floss between the cheeks not on your head? (Or either set of cheeks for that matter.) Floss belongs between teeth, and no where else.

The alternative is the dreaded VPL -- the visible panty line for those of you fashion backwards. Who decided that visible panty lines were such a fashion faux pas? And, even if wasn't a fashion no-no, do I really have to be bothered with wearing full coverage drawers? Ok, I know that they patterns can be quite adorable, but how adorable is it when nobody sees it, AND they're riding up uncomfortably between aforementioned cheeks? ARGH!

Ok, so the moral of the story. How do we banish underwear forever and ever?

/\ /\

Today, I saw the weirdest looking makeup job ever. I've never really understood why some women shave off their eyebrows and then repaint them with an eyebrow pencil. Well today, I stand completely confused. This chick on the eL had not only shaved off her eyebrows, but she also drew some on in a color that was more charcoal than black. And, they had a little bit of a stretched-out-upside-down "V" vibe to them. And then, on top of that, she drew them all the way into her nose area. It was so freaky! Man, people are so weird.

Hippy Dippy White Guys

And while I'm on the subject of hippy dippy white guys...who the hell decided these men were attractive? And now they're everywhere. Seriously, that giant dude from that idiotic movie "40 Year-Old Virgin." Who later carried the movie I couldn't bring myself to watch "Knocked Up." And then Jack Black. And, goodness help me Will Ferrell. Gaaaaaah.

Seriously, I"m not sure which is worse, saggy pants or the idiotic curly 'fros made allegedly popular. Wait, I take that back. They both make me want to settle down with a nice gay man.