Today Bree said to me words I had hoped never to hear.
"You're going to have to hang up your jeans till September."
Putting aside for a minute that I'm not a freak who hangs up her jeans (Bree can tell you, I barely hang up my work clothes), let's talk about how sad this directive made me.
I have been a bonafide jeans girl since I was about 3 years old and my mom first let me pick out my own clothes because, God bless that lovely lady, she really wasn't qualified to do it herself. I love me my jeans. I own way, way too many, too similar pairs and I genuinely believe each is special and different. Wide, skinny, boot, straight. Dark, light, red (yes, friends), grey. Thin, rigid, stretch. Literally every possible permutation.
In college, I endured tsk-tsk's by constantly rocking "going-out jeans" before it was socially acceptable to wear them to nice bars and restaurants (the kind without jukeboxes and peanut shells on the floor). And it would take a serious weather system to prevent me from wearing jeans at every opportunity. I wore them in India, for God's sake.
But, like much else, DC has worn me down and beaten my stubborness out of me. Today I arrived at work with a centimeter-thick film of clammy sweat covering my entire body. I don't think my forearms have ever perspired before, but they sure as hell did today. It is so unbelievably disgusting today that our fair government allowed its employees to dress "casually" today. Those of you familiar with DC fashion can just imagine the aesthetic shitshow that downtown DC provides you today.
And I too am falling prey to the perils of the heat. I am, as Bree suggested, "hanging up" my jeans. And wearing dresses like it's my job. God, that would be a good job.
So if you stumble upon any denim dresses -- oh yeah, I said it -- let me know. I am, for example, seriously contemplating purchasing the ensemble above.
"You're going to have to hang up your jeans till September."
Putting aside for a minute that I'm not a freak who hangs up her jeans (Bree can tell you, I barely hang up my work clothes), let's talk about how sad this directive made me.
I have been a bonafide jeans girl since I was about 3 years old and my mom first let me pick out my own clothes because, God bless that lovely lady, she really wasn't qualified to do it herself. I love me my jeans. I own way, way too many, too similar pairs and I genuinely believe each is special and different. Wide, skinny, boot, straight. Dark, light, red (yes, friends), grey. Thin, rigid, stretch. Literally every possible permutation.
In college, I endured tsk-tsk's by constantly rocking "going-out jeans" before it was socially acceptable to wear them to nice bars and restaurants (the kind without jukeboxes and peanut shells on the floor). And it would take a serious weather system to prevent me from wearing jeans at every opportunity. I wore them in India, for God's sake.
But, like much else, DC has worn me down and beaten my stubborness out of me. Today I arrived at work with a centimeter-thick film of clammy sweat covering my entire body. I don't think my forearms have ever perspired before, but they sure as hell did today. It is so unbelievably disgusting today that our fair government allowed its employees to dress "casually" today. Those of you familiar with DC fashion can just imagine the aesthetic shitshow that downtown DC provides you today.
And I too am falling prey to the perils of the heat. I am, as Bree suggested, "hanging up" my jeans. And wearing dresses like it's my job. God, that would be a good job.
So if you stumble upon any denim dresses -- oh yeah, I said it -- let me know. I am, for example, seriously contemplating purchasing the ensemble above.
No comments:
Post a Comment