September 30, 2004
Stands with Pashmina
Okay, I'm a chick, so it was bound to happen. I have to talk a bit about "fashion." Which is a bit like Paris Hilton talking about Linux, but bear with me. (And, yes, I did have to make quote marks in the air when saying "fashion," like "art" and "self-control," because I just don't fucking get it.)
And no, I'm not going to mention Ugg boots or what the fuck was Tyra wearing last night on "America's Next Top Model".
I was just at Woodfield mall on my lunch break, buying a really expensive outfit that The Girl Child apparently could not make it to her fourth birthday without. This is what my life has been reduced to. I'm a sherpa. But she's ridiculously adorable, and if you saw her, you would do anything she wanted, so get off me.
And in the window at Nordstrom's is a mannequin wearing high-heeled moccasins (yes, yes, we'll get to that in a moment), argyle knee-socks and fishnets. Apparently because they couldn't get a real person to wear those three items at the same time.
Okay, first of all -- high-heeled moccasins? Doesn't that defeat the purpose of moccasins, which is to feel as if one isn't wearing shoes at all? Much like the high-heeled hiking boots of two years ago, they are even more fuckin' ugly than they are pointless. If Stands With Fist had to wear these things, she would have attempted suicide much sooner and much more successfully.
Needless to say, I will forgo the argyle socks and fishnets and stick with my jeans, clogs and hoodies. I'm a yawn, but at least I need to do a bit more than merely enter a room in order to embarrass myself... most days. Which is why I can't, for the life of me, imagine why a friend bought me a pashmina for Christmas. Yes, Christmas 2003. It's soft, a beautiful baby blue, and has remained in my drawer for nine months, neglected, like Pauly Shore's career.
I feel obligated to wear it. After all, the person who bought it for me obviously thinks I am much more colorful and sophisticated than I actually am. And for seeing me in such wonderful light, the least I could do is wear the darn thing.
But that would mean: a.) ironing it; and, b.) building an entire outfit around it. Both of which are beyond me.
Seriously, what the hell do you wear a pashmina with? I'm not even sure how to spell it, let alone coordinate it with other clothing items!
Maybe that's the problem at Nordstrom's. Maybe they have fashion-impared people like me doing their window displays, and that's why they end up with mannequins that look like Gwen Stefani and Sarah Jessica Parker's love child.