So, on Saturday after a three-week lull I went out and of course was confronted with many a Northface fleece and ill-fated footwear option on both DC's men and women. However, toward the end of the night at Saint Ex, I saw these two girls out of the corner of my eye. One was convincingly pulling off a red, possibly velvet jumper and the other was somehow making gold lamé look good. It might have been the three vodka martinis or the fact that it was nearly 3 a.m. (or both), but I could not let myself leave without mentioning how refreshing their outfit invention skills were in this private, comfort-first hell of mine. Moreover, perhaps this was my chance to increase my small circle of mirror-using friends in the District.
Me: Hey, I just want to tell you that I love your outfits. It's so nice to see well-dressed people in this city.Ouch. My frozen mechanical heart grew even colder. Of course those girls weren't from here. It seems God/Allah/Buddha/Zeus would have it no other way. And so my plans to make new DC friends failed and my brief glimmer of hope that this city knew something about fashion passed barely even noticed.
Girls: Thanks! Tell us about it! We've been getting weird looks all night and we have no idea why.
Me: Seriously? Welcome to my world. Don't take it personally. This city often can't handle anything other than khakis and nametags. Do you guys live around here?
Girls: Oh, hell no. We're just visiting from LA.
But lest I end on a sour and depressing note, I invite you to view this sad tale from the proverbial bright side. You get to read this blog! HOORAY! THREE CHEERS FOR OBNOXIOUS NARCISSISM! Seriously, it's just *too* easy.