Minidress + No Common Sense = Hello Yellow Thong

I do not have a picture of the “Hello, Yellow Thong” moment.  Please weigh in on whether or not you are disappointed by this.  I personally am thankful, because I needed eye-bleach enough the first time.

Yesterday, I gallivanted about Boston with my mother, where I saw many, many purses that resulted in vicious handbag envy, but more atrocious outfits, some of which I was quick enough with the camera for.  This one took effort, since she was sitting behind me, but my God, was her dress unflattering and far too short for the situation.

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Dip Dyed Hair Is Ridiculous

No bad puns today, sorry.

When it comes to improving upon nature’s intentions, sometimes the simplest change in hair style can make all the difference.  In junior high, my friend S came in with really gorgeous highlights and a great haircut, and it was amazing how much it brightened her appearance.  She’s already adorable, but that haircut and highlights?  Damn.  I once dyed my hair ever so slightly lighter brown and got tons of compliments about it.  Hair dye can be a beautiful, beautiful thing.

However, it can also be a horrible thing.  I can vividly recall a girl in high school whose hair was over-highlighted that it was impossible to tell what color her hair actually was.  It went beautifully with her perpetual glare of disdain for everyone.  Similar atrocious decisions include the bleached tips that were so popular in the late 90’s and early 00’s, and any time more than one color not found in nature appears on the same head of hair.

That said, the latest thing to raise my hair-ire came in the form of a few bonkers celebs (google if you’re interested, I was too filled with disgust to link), the Prada F/W show, and a hipster on the streets of Vermont.

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Are You In The Village People?

Are you secretly Freddie Mercury?  Is that a look people are attempting to achieve?

If yes, what is wrong with fashion these days? If no, why has no one shamed those who tried into wearing real clothing?!

The look of wearing mesh, with or without anything underneath, is in a word: trashy.  I don’t care, it’s gross as a fashion statement.

The really beautiful thing about this particular submission is that it is an excellent mix of terrible decision making from two different people.

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The Muffin Top Is All That Whole Grain Low Fat

….you know you wanna get with me, but I’m just here to dance!

While I am here to dance, I am also here to look good in my jeans.

Here’s the thing: a lot of the more delusional amongst us feel that it makes more sense to stuff our asses into jeans that are too tight rather than admit that we need a bigger size.  My experience in bridal taught me just how insanely attached girls become to a number that is spectacularly arbitrary.  Depending on the store/week/moon cycle/Venus being in the 12th house I can wear a: 6, 8, 4, 10, 28, 29, 46 or the ever baffling “small” or “medium”.   I have mostly had my attachment to a specific size beaten out of me through a combination of horror and shame (the horror from watching girls who need a six insist they wear a two in a tone that suggested you’d murdered their puppy, and the shame from A hurling abuse at me if I attempted to leave a dressing room with a pair of pants that were too small).  It still occasionally flares up when shopping for jeans or when I realized that a pencil skirt I really liked was a ten.  That said, if I actually buy something, I man up enough to get it in the right size, not the aspirational (which IS a word, fuck you, you judgmental squiggly red-lined bastard) and frankly delusional, “Oh, I’m going to BE this size.”  If I become that size, I get to buy new pants.  I’m not totally sure that is a reward, since jean shopping is quite possibly one of the worst first-world experiences for a girl.

That being said, while jean shopping is difficult, it is IMPERATIVE that it is done right.  Otherwise this happens:

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Crocs Are A Crock Of Shit

Sorry about the bad wordplay in the title.  I’m writing this to the dulcet tones of my mom snoring and Stephen Fry’s voice while I inhabit a strange world known as Vacation Sleep Madness.  After very little sleep last night and quite a bit of driving, I will now proceed to not sleep a sensible amount again, despite being so tired I find stupid things funny.  Suddenly I find things like letter swapping witty, or writing entries where the capital letters of the title and every subsequent paragraph are in alphabetical order.  Honestly, I was disappointed no one noticed at the time, though it must be said I gave up before I got to the very end of the alphabet (albeit not by much).

I sometimes wonder if sleep madness is the only explanation for some of the things people willingly wear in public places. It certainly explains some of the sillier bits of my content here.

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