Over the weekend, I climbed Kilimanjaro. Then ran a marathon and, since I was in the great state of California, tackled the face of El Capitan and swam in the Yosemite waterfalls. In reality, I went to Disneyland with the GrandBears. Same thing.
At one point, a member of our party checked her Apple Watch. “Wow. We’ve gone 13,000 steps so far today.” Liar. It was 64,000. Hip flexors, which made their presence known, disagreed. They complained often that they’d had enough while on a constant search for a place to sit.
To be sure, there is nothing on planet earth like holding a two-year-old tight while they grip a carousel horse for dear life. Or to see the immeasurable joy of GrandBear 2 meeting her alter ego, she wears the dress every day, Rapunzel. Her mouth dropped open. She beamed. Her Mémé cried and told her hip flexors to shut up.
One would be remiss, however, not to take note of the unique fashion in the happiest place on earth. And, of course, there are the observations as to the human condition, non? What reporter would miss the good stuff?
There were bachelorette celebrations. Truth. One princess surrounded by four matching maids, all in the same dress. Dress, by the way, for what would be considered the basic girls, is a tiny skirt, pleated, and a tank with straps that would get you kicked out of school. The tank must be dangerously low. Yes, boobs are everywhere at the land of the mouse.
On the other end of the spectrum were ripped and run black hose (good grief, girl, its 95 degrees–what were you thinking?) paired with woolen black pleats, boots of the Doc Marten persuasion and some sort of plaid on top. Oh, and breasts–high and outside.
There were boys with sagging pants–lots of them. Didn’t that look leave the fashion docket a while ago? Neither here nor there, they look as ridiculous as ever. As we all were checked by dogs and security on the way in, you pose no threat. What, exactly, is the purpose of the gang walk and the sour face, sir?
Fashion winner shoutout to the five and under set. Cinderella, Belle, Rapunzel, Snow White, Elsa. Bedecked in gowns, gloves, crowns, face paint, multi-colored hair extensions and attitude we pray they keep forever. The littlest of the princesses, GrandBear 2, sported–count ’em–a floral headband, a golden crown, and sequined ears with flowing tulle down her back indicating her sheer princess-ness, in case passersby had any doubt.
Fashion loser goes to the hands free dads following behind wives pushing two in a stroller, hefting a backpack, while carrying a wayward toddler. Yes, young men follow behind their families, carrying nothing, pants threatening to fall, strutting like they’ve got something to be proud of. Men have a bad enough rep right now. Would you guys at least advise the younger ones to do better? Pfft.
Speaking of men. If you are alone at Disney and skulking about, tone it down a bit. You’re creeping out the rest of us. Generally, guys, don’t go to Disney without a friend. Eyeballs are on you and wondering WTH? Also, the guy just outside the gates each night with the giant snake-stop that shit. It’s dark. The snake is black. I didn’t see that thing until its giant head was way too near mine. Asshat.
Advice: Take the trip if you need a dose of cute, weird, funny, oddball, family questionable fashion. It’s basically a parade inside a parade. Not sure Walt thought there might come a time when the visitors competed with the characters for imagination.
