Got a call from Middle Chicken and Law School Fashionista. The pair fascinates me with their soul sister finishing each other’s sentences and united opinions on things large and small. The reason for the call was fairly serious business involving important law school matters I swear will stay in the vault. So, basically, I can’t tell. But believe you me–stealing people’s ideas in law school–big deal. That’s all. I’ve said too much. Picture me: one finger in my ear, pinky pointing downward mouthing, “Call me.”
Law School Fashionista is much more than just a fashionista, as if that weren’t enough. She is also whip smart. After she schools me on the legal side of a project for Amour Bags we chat about, what else, fashion. I lay on Middle Chicken’s empty bed, kitten nearby, as we discuss, in depth, what should never be worn. Every year lists tout what to wear. Perhaps a change is in order. Perhaps, as a cautionary tale, we should switch it up.
Some offer up excuses for their lack of style. It’s not that way where I live. I have a casual job. I don’t have time. I don’t have the money. I want to be taken seriously. It’s a judgement on women that I will not be a part of. No one cares what I wear.
You are wrong dear. We do care. You’re hurting our eyes. We pity you and snark behind your back. But then we feel guilty and think–perhaps she knows not the error of her ways. So, with a little help from Middle Chicken and Law School Fashionista, there’s a list. You sensed it did you not? It’s the list of what to stop wearing. This instant. If you own it, burn it. Even the homeless don’t want it.
For the fashionistas amongst us, have smelling salts at the ready. At the very least a cold cloth and a setee on which to fall. And perhaps a fan. Of course, you are wearing your pearls so you have something to grasp when you elicit a small gasp and a tsk tsk.
The examples you are about to envision are real. Names have been changed to protect the fashion impaired. The instances are recent making them all the more heinous. But as the saying goes; if you are ever in position to help, be the hand that pulls another up. Or something like that.
In DC, a few days ago, there was a sighting one might expect in a warmer city like Scottsdale where chicks are known to put body parts on full display. When questioned at a deeper level, a conclusion as to this choice is never made clear. This grievous error is known as Sweater As Dress.
There are sweaters. There are dresses. And there are sweater dresses. It is vital to learn the difference. If your coochie shows, it is a sweater and not a dress.
No accusations. The assumption is you simply did not realize your error dear. We are here to help. First off, make sure the sweater material is actually a dress. That means it hits somewhere between the knee and thigh, preferably closer to the knee. The closer you move to coochie territory, the more likely you’re dealing with a sweater. Pair that with leggings and boots and have a super day.
Once you’ve determined it is a dress, pair it with tights, most likely black and a shoe of the same color creating an elongated line (works on every figure) or a tremendously delicious boot. Problem solved. The world can again, spin about on its axis.
Young ladies are not the only offenders. Closer to my homestead, Scottsdalian women tend to believe they’re younger than their chronological number and thus, dress like their daughters. Must be the constant sun. When you’re pushing fifty you can’t wear leather shorts, thong bikinis, jean mini skirts (well, truthfully, no one should wear those, especially with Ugg boots. Ugg.) Also on the list? Anything that makes us fear that one of your girls will pop out over lunch.
Breasts, lovely as they are, belong in social situations, preferably with your man. Hoist them up for your anniversary dinner. Display them proudly at fundraising functions next to his tux. Please batten down the hatches at work, lunch with the girls and parent teacher conferences.
It’s not that the body you gym slave for isn’t worthy. It’s just that, well, you’re old and you look silly. Same goes for too tight pencil skirts, babydoll dresses and anything from bebe. On the other hand, looking like you’re a hundred and fifty does you no favors either. Toss out any polyester suits–yes, these exist. I have seen them in the wild. Also on the to go list: blue eyeshadow, chunky square heels on dress shoes, pastels below the waist and suntan pantyhose. Hose, if you must, should complement the leg not emblazon it in an orange hue.
As women of a certain age, it is important not to look as if we are trying to hard. And why should we? We are the most badass of all. We know what we want. We have no idea how to keep our mouths shut. And some of us have come to grips with our ass and know how to best camouflage it’s girth. You could come across my ass in the jungle and it will be so well disguised it could suffocate you in your sleep before you had knowledge of it’s existence. It’s stealth.
Guys, you are not immune. There are some sorry looking boys roaming the world. You do look cute as a button when you’re a little scruffy, day old beard, slouchy jeans and a flannel shirt or a rumpled tee. You’ve showered and brushed your teeth, yes? However, if you really wanna make a girl’s pants fall off, suit up, put on a tie and learn to mix the perfect dirty martini. Shaving the scruff is up to you. Southern drawl? Game over. Our little black dresses just hit the floor.