My love affair with bell-bottom jeans, in which I don't wear a bra... Irrelevant?
I took the liberty of stealing one of Alex's shirts this morning before beginning my December 24 rush with my new best friend in hand (I'm so floored, dear Shopbop ladies: Merry Christmas to you too!). At 7am, the sun wasn't too unbearable, though I barely survived the few hours of running some last minute Christmas errands before falling in the door but half an hour ago. You never saw jeans being peeled off so damn fast - am I so ready for New York and London winters? Yes. Yes I am.
Nonetheless, here begins my dramatic relationship with bell-bottom jeans. Like short shorts, I dabbled in flared legs in my earlier tween years, when low-riders were abusing eyes around the world. Then Kate Moss came along and stuck her skinny jeans into that pie and my poor dancing pants were no longer cool - because really, Paris Hilton: I can see your panties. Everyone can see your panties. Superspeed to the present day, and Margaret has just chopped off all her hair again (thank you Paloma and Michael!), has acquired killer CUE shades in her namesake, and is generally feeling like a bit of a badass. So, to the delight of Baby Boomers and the despair of all boyfriends ever, Jimi Hendrix is back in the game, and Margaret will stop talking in third person.
The shirt, too, was not solely for the purpose of proving to the world that one does, in fact, have a significant other to steal shirts from - though I do know a lot of girls who have that motivation, and to them I say: you're a weirdo, but you still look mighty fine. Because that's the fact of the matter. Here I stand, staring at my section of well-tailored, well-fitted collared shirts in my well-messy wardrobe, and just like that there's an urge to throw them all out. Or sell them (which I will be doing in January fro $20 a pop - but more on that later). If, like me, your chest is negligible, why look like an all-American 10-year-old when you could look French wear a giant and beautiful crisp incarnation of the great button-down comme ça - vibing Margiela? And you don't even need a bra! That creepy man at the corner store can't see what the hell you look like underneath. Instead, you flaunt your hard Summer training in tight jeans, while smartly avoiding any apple-bottom situations because this collared beauty falls halfway to your knees.
This is a revelation.
Disclaimer: stolen boyfriend shirts also double as killer lounge wear - I'm currently rolling around on my floor deciding on the new lens I'm going to buy myself, and drawing up a calendar for 2013.
Alex's Shirt (similar by Maison Martin Margiela HERE) - J Brand Jeans 'Love Story' Bell-Bottom Jeans - 3.1 Phillip Lim Pashli Messenger Bag from Shopbop - DIESEL Gold Watch - CUE 'Margaret' Sunglasses - Claire Aristides, ASOS, and Diva Bracelets
P.S. thank you so much for all your kind comments about my Thailand video - I can't even bring myself to watch it anymore because I want to go back so badly!