Seriously, this ensemble, which I wore yesterday, is objectively pretty boring, especially compared to such glorious get-ups as this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this and, of course, um, this. Weirdly, though, a strange thing happened yesterday. While my objectively awesome outfits of yore rarely garnered an iota of positive feedback, the yawn-worthy dirty laundry that I threw on haphazardly yesterday made me feel like I was ready to attend fashion week.
Inexplicably, people loved my shoes, my shorts, my shirt, my bra straps! Well, maybe not that last one, but you get the idea. I must admit though, I'm not sure if I should be flattered. I mean, it's laughably boring and, for Bali's sake, my bra strap's were showing! After returning home from my quest to procure a
$5 $6 footlong I looked in the mirror and just started laughing at myself. DC was totally f*cking with me!
Not only is this get-up boring, but the shirt makes me look like a pear, the shorts truncate my legs and the coordination is horrible -- I failed to fully incorporate the color palette of gray-brown-black with appropriate accessories. A black scarf would be perfect, but in heat like this I'd step outside and probably tie it in a noose. In short, I looked a bit of a hot mess, which may explain why the woman who most fervently admired my ensemble was wearing flip-flops, sweatpants and looked entirely too much like Grimace. It doesn't take much to impress Grimace.
But Ronald-McDonaldland evil-milkshake-stealer-turned-lovable-anthropomorphic-sidekick or not, at least this woman appreciated my non-efforts.
However, not everyone felt the same way. One woman went out of her way to tell me so. But to my surprise, instead of focusing on the menagerie of things I described above, this woman insulted my shoes, which are, in my opinion, the only aspect of this faulty ensemble that actually works.
Alas, I guess one woman's sandal-booties, are another woman's Crocs...
Misplaced shoe scurrility aside though, the fact that so many other people (and by that I mean four, including Grimace) really liked my lackluster outfit, made me wonder, "What the hell?"
Honestly, I'm not quite sure what this all says about DC. Am I that stellar of a dresser that I can grab whatever's closest to me at the time and still out-style the common DC woman? Although wait...hold on...what's that on my leg?
In the course of my grainy pseudo-photog skills I had forgotten about the second-degree leg burn I incurred the other day while defending my visage. My helper horse Sven threw a flaming bag of his own poo at me after a heated (literally) argument over the electricity bill. Thankfully, my roundhouse kicking skills are top-notch and I was able to protect my face from the flaming doo-doo. My poor leg, however...ouch.
And while the picture doesn't really do justice to the giant red, bubbly charred swatches of epidermis on my calf right now, I'm pretty sure I now understand why almost everyone was so complimentary. They were just trying to make a burn victim feel better.
Thank you, Grimace, but a milkshake would've been better...