Gag Me with a Sequin

Okay. The fact that I really could not care much less about modern fashion is no secret. Part of this, as I have explained, is that I have no more credit cards. Part of it is that I want to lose more weight before going shopping again.

But. BUT. Is it just me, or does fashion this summer look exactly like 1987, with a touch of ’89 thrown in for good measure? Seriously. I just passed a coworker, and she’s wearing bright pink Capris. And I thought to myself, as I did yesterday when a different coworker was wearing bright pink Capris, “I wish I could wear pink pants.” Then my brain spun around, and I was like, “WAIT…no I don’t!

I was annoyed enough when I was informed that in order to be stylish in 2005, I had to wear clothing that was the color of vomit. I was flabbergasted and appalled when Nancy Drew bicycle shorts got renamed Bermuda shorts, which already were shorts, like can’t you even think of a new name for these ugly fashionable shorts, fashion industry, and started appearing everywhere.

Then my heart sank further as the clothes on “The O.C.” got uglier and uglier to the point where I was filled with despair. Yes, I want to lose more weight, but regardless, I am a very curvy person. How on earth was I supposed to pull off those hideous maternity/cleavagey monstrosities? Those things are UGLY. Seriously. UGLY. They make everyone’s boobs look ridiculous, and saggy, so the cleavage sticks out, but the boobs hang low, and then there is no redemption in the rest of it, which billows out like you are a crack whore trying to shoplift a wheel of cheese.

Only to follow the body down lower, where we find MORE ugliness, in the form of putrid, heinous, bright-ass colors that really belong on traffic cones or in the corner of a forgotten bodega where the Ecto-Cooler still lives. Because WTF? Seriously.

I thought maybe I was just bitter. Bitter that I still want to be thinner, bitter that I can’t afford this stuff anyway. Maybe it was sour grapes. But no. It’s all ugly! It’s the frumpiness of 1987, with the fluorescents of 1989, topped off with some disco-type nonsense.

I want it to stop. I need it to stop. Or maybe I should just start shopping in thrift stores again. Maybe they’ll have some stuff from 1999. That year, I liked.

© June 15, 2005

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