Last Friday my sister, Figgy, and I decided to take advantage of some of the free, silly things to do in the city while spending time together and went to a local bookstore (there are still a few) and walked into the signing of What to Wear Where, by the girls of "Who What Wear."
For those of you living under a fashion rock, or who don't care about celeb's clothes, this is an online magazine that always shows celebrities clothes and talks about how amazing they are and where you can buy each and every one of their horrid, hideous, overpriced pieces that were put together by a colorblind child who seems to have an affinity for floral print, ill fitting pants, jewelry from my garage sale, and something my Grandma wore in the 1980s. And not in a cool retro way.
So I already knew I would hate their clothes, think the book (chock full of "fashion" advice for every situation) was stupid, and not buy anything, but it was free, they were previewing their new shoe line with Just Fabulous, and it was next to a bar. So I stepped into my Halston's and teetered out in red, black and hot pink, with my six foot, blond, Amazonian sister in tow.
When we got to the bookstore the pre-signing speech had already started and we tried to make ourselves inconspicuous by the door, because that works awesome when you're in a hot pink trench coat and five inch boots. We then proceeded to scan the room, judge everyone in it, send snarky Tweets, and left after the Q&A to go get drunk. All without buying a book.
I may have considered purchasing the book and having it signed if the two writers (as if they really wrote it) seemed vaguely human, and gave better advice than "wear something you're comfortable in."
What? Don't tell people that! What if they're comfortable in something that looks like shit? Or if they don't own a mirror (lots of that going around), or they're really comfy in that hideous floral dress...oh, you're the writer? Sorry. But P.S.; your dress is uggos.
The shoes were fine, but nothing to write home about. Classic pumps, a boot or two and some peep toes. And there may have been a flat. I forget. Hardly worthy of a parade.
And I know that I may not be the most fashionable person in the world, and I wear clothes that are too loud and not necessarily off the runway, but I'm happy with my choices. And no, I'm not comfortable, because looking good is not comfy. Not being able to sit is not comfort, push up bras, control top pantyhose, chandelier earrings, and five inch heels are not comfort, but damnit, they look good, and really, what's more important?
For those of you living under a fashion rock, or who don't care about celeb's clothes, this is an online magazine that always shows celebrities clothes and talks about how amazing they are and where you can buy each and every one of their horrid, hideous, overpriced pieces that were put together by a colorblind child who seems to have an affinity for floral print, ill fitting pants, jewelry from my garage sale, and something my Grandma wore in the 1980s. And not in a cool retro way.
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| New line from Just Fabulous |
When we got to the bookstore the pre-signing speech had already started and we tried to make ourselves inconspicuous by the door, because that works awesome when you're in a hot pink trench coat and five inch boots. We then proceeded to scan the room, judge everyone in it, send snarky Tweets, and left after the Q&A to go get drunk. All without buying a book.
I may have considered purchasing the book and having it signed if the two writers (as if they really wrote it) seemed vaguely human, and gave better advice than "wear something you're comfortable in."
What? Don't tell people that! What if they're comfortable in something that looks like shit? Or if they don't own a mirror (lots of that going around), or they're really comfy in that hideous floral dress...oh, you're the writer? Sorry. But P.S.; your dress is uggos.
The shoes were fine, but nothing to write home about. Classic pumps, a boot or two and some peep toes. And there may have been a flat. I forget. Hardly worthy of a parade.
And I know that I may not be the most fashionable person in the world, and I wear clothes that are too loud and not necessarily off the runway, but I'm happy with my choices. And no, I'm not comfortable, because looking good is not comfy. Not being able to sit is not comfort, push up bras, control top pantyhose, chandelier earrings, and five inch heels are not comfort, but damnit, they look good, and really, what's more important?
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