I laughed my ass off when I read this.
For those of you who have not yet clicked the link, the name of the website is Arm Candy Girl. From the looks of it, the site is dedicated to reviewing designer purses and handbags. Now while that, in itself, isn’t particularly humorous, the fun really starts when she vainly attempts to speculate on what sort of purse I would carry.
Obviously, Arm Candy Girl considered my tastes carefully. According to her, I would need something small enough that I could ‘tote it around all day without getting too tired,’ yet large enough to ‘use as a weapon.’ ‘Exquisite craftsmanship’ would be a must since I ‘appreciate the finer things in life,’ but I would prefer something slightly understated considering that I don’t care if anyone knows how expensive my bag is. All in all, she guessed ‘classy and pretty in the edgiest of ways’ would be the look I ultimately went for.
Honestly, Arm Candy Girl simultaneously pegged me completely while also missing the mark so spectacularly that her post will probably end up being a running joke among my friends. For example, she was correct when she said I appreciate the finer things in life. However, I define the finer things in life as those that appreciate in value. Or, in the very least, hold their value. So while I would probably tile my kitchen with imported glass from Italy thus increasing the base value of my home, it is not likely that I would spend $1420.00 for a Damier Azur Berkeley from Louis Vuitton. Unless, of course, I could carry it around for 10 years just to turn around and sell it for 10 times what I paid for it.
The truth of the matter is I’m fashionably retarded. My sense of style is shamelessly sloppy. And not in a quirky, free spirited sort of way, either. It’s sloppy in the sort of way where I’ve actually had ex-boyfriends gently ask me, “Uh…did you uhhhh….were you going to…ah…comb your hair…or anything?” My brother, who definitely possesses all the style in the family, has actually refused to go out with me until I changed. My Husband, on the other hand, is just as oblivious to fashion as I am which, now that I think about it, might have played a part in why I married him.
I feel like I’m betraying Arm Candy Girl here, and I hope she continues to read even though I strongly suspect that I’m about to break her adorably trendy little heart, but just to prove my point, I’m going to post pictures of a sample outfit of mine. If any of you respected me before this, I thoroughly expect you to reexamine those feelings and forsake me completely after you see the following pictures. And while I do regret that, I simply can’t go on living this ‘hot and stylish’ lie any longer.
So what kind of purse do I carry? Well, see for yourself:
The dog lovers are giggling silently to themselves right now, because what I’ve just shown you all is a dog treat bag. It retails at Target for a whooping $7.99 and it clips securely to my belt loop. The zipped pocket on the front typically contains my money, ID, and poop bags. I slip my cell phone in with the dog treats, so it’s not unusual for it to smell ever so faintly of liver and peanut butter. If that’s not ‘edgy and understated,’ then I don’t know what is.
A Sample Hair Accessory:
No, I didn’t post a picture of an old pen by mistake. I actually do wear my hair in a sloppy bun, secured tightly in place with an ordinary pen. And yes, I often end up with streaks of ink in my hair.
A typical shirt:
I don’t know if it’s possible to find a shirt any more plain and boring than this one, so of course, I own multiple versions in various colors. It’s only saving grace is that it’s somewhat form fitting. Not Pictured: the teeny tiny holes in the sleeve courtesy of my dog. Most people would throw away an ugly shirt riddled with holes and old dog saliva stains, but then again most people would rather not look like a homeless zoo keeper.
A pair of pants:
See, I have a problem. I have no idea how tall I am, so every time I pick out a pair of jeans, I misjudge the length of the pant leg. The end result is I end up with a pair that are too long. Rather than take them back and exchange them for something that fits appropriately like a person with pride and self respect does, I wear them anyway, dragging the pant legs through mud and muck, until they are ridiculously frayed. This practice might still be cool in the more urban neighborhoods (for all I know), if I were still 14 years old.
Too bad you can’t see the ass of these jeans because there are a few choice holes there as well. Normally, I try to take care to wear a pair of panties that covers my whole backside to spare people the view. But I’m not going to lie: I have forgotten and I have walked around all day, oblivious to the fact that my bare ass was exposed.
Oh, and notice the blue sock? My other sock was white and it belonged to my Husband who has significantly larger feet. I didn’t even notice until it was time to take the picture.
A sample accessory:
A couple of years ago, I developed a bit of a moral issue that forced me to trash all of my diamonds. I did keep my wedding ring, for sentimental reasons, although I refuse to wear it in public out of principle. I’m sorry, but I can’t really abide by the idea that some African kid somewhere got his hand chopped off so I could wear a shiny rock in my ear.
So now, I sport fake gemstone crap made by local artists. If I wear anything at all. I know, I know, ‘classy’ with a capital ‘C,’ baby.
So, there ya have it. A sample outfit that likely made Arm Candy Girl cringe in horror. I wish I could offer you all some excuse as to why I dress so poorly. Oh, I suppose I could pretend like I’m ‘above it all,’ but the truth is, I sometimes look at very well put together women with their matching socks and cute little…things…and I think to myself, “I really should make some sort of an effort…”
I guess the only thing I can really say is fashion is kind of like interior design. Or architecture. Or landscaping. Even though it may come as second nature to some, it really does take some sort of artistic talent. Deep down I know that even if I really tried hard to put together a nice looking outfit, I’d ending picking all the wrong colors or sizes or styles or whatever and I’d flub it even worse than I already do naturally. You really do need an ‘eye’ for that sort of stuff.
Unfortunately, when it comes to fashion, I might as well be fucking blind.
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