She's a hot bitch.

I would just like to say that Michelle Obama is my favorite political fashion icon since Jackie Kennedy. Examples of her fabulousness:





Never you mind that she's sharply intelligent, an admirable working mother, a strong feminist, and a refreshingly candid potential first lady. All I care about are the clothes.

Very....um, blue.

Remember when Michael Jackson and Lisa Marie Presley were married? Remember how profoundly unsettling it was to see them together? That's the only feeling I can equate with the sensation I felt in the pit of my stomach when I saw this woman's outfit. I feel that, although Dress Barn and other designer-inspired-fashions-for-less-at-the-strip-mall stores (conveniently located next to the grocery store!) are a prevalent force in suburban society, they are reasonably easy to resist. Not for this poor soul. Another one lost to Fashion Bug. I am convinced that the causal factor of this horrendous clothing epidemic is a typical suburban lifestyle. Having lived in both suburban and metropolitan areas of the country, I can tell you first hand that nothing squashes creative expression quite like living in a small New England town. 'Why bother with my Choos? I'm just going to the grocery store with a bunch of bland people in sweatpants.' Then, before you know it, it seems acceptable to wear white orthopedic shoes and flowered pants. A friend recently asked me "Where do you go in this town worth carrying a piece from your handbag collection?" And the answer to that is: nowhere. It's my charity work; lead by example. But I digress. On to the main problem of the ensemble. My rage disorder comes on full force when it comes to knock-off designer handbags. Why on earth would you want everyone else to think you are carrying something well-made and luxurious only to get home later and have to dig your change out of the various holes in the lining? This handbag, if you want to call it that, as I prefer 'small Laura Ashley loveseat with handles', is a fake Vera Bradley.

Fake. Vera. Bradley.

Appalling.

Map showing states adversely affecting American fashion (in red) and those having a positive influence (in dark red):

I Sometimes Wish I Had a Gun In My Glove Compartment

We will be discussing bad car fashion in this post. You see, I don't just hate terrible fashion choices, I generally dislike anything that is in poor taste. And I can't think of anything more gauche than advertising your opinions on aborting fetuses on the bumper of your vehicle. Especially when those opinions are clearly wrong. Pro-life minivan. Excuse me while I politely evacuate my lunch from my stomach. If you aren't familiar with this bumper sticker, it is actually a shorter version of the original which reads "CHOOSE LIFE YOUR MOTHER DID". I see them everywhere, which means two things: 1. I am living in the wrong part of the country. 2. I spend a lot of time talking myself down from bouts of road rage during which I have vivid and murderous fantasies. Is the idea behind these bumper stickers that if you so happen to be pregnant and on your way to a clinic you will see it and change your mind? Because the demographic of women driving behind you and considering abortion while paying close attention to your bumper stickers is pretty small. And what if your mother didn't "choose life"? What if your mother lived in a tiny mid-western town in the 1950's and didn't want to risk her life at the hands of some coat hanger-wielding "doctor"? Or what if your mom happened to be one of those women who are so fat that they don't know about their pregnancy until labor begins? Again, narrowing the field of people this bumper sticker could apply to. Can we retroactively abort the owner of this van?

Possible Barry Manilow Sighting

Yes, this is a lesbian. No, that is not an excuse. This makes me wonder how lesbians ever managed to become trendy with this kind of representation. When I first saw this person, I thought 'woman? man? Clay Aiken?' I think if I were to say to this woman "what the fuck were you thinking?!" she would say, "well, I'm really comfortable". And then I would say "fine, but is it worth it?" To which everyone (because, suddenly, a crowd has gathered) would exuberantly declare "NO!" It is ninety degrees. Why are you wearing socks with your sandals? .....Actually, that isn't a rhetorical question. I really want to know why people wear socks with sandals. If you love socks so friggin much that you just. cannot. stop. yourself from putting them on every single day without regard for your footwear, it may be time to fill your closet with boots. Because the idea behind sandals is obviously completely lost on you. I have to say that I do respect this woman for maintaining some continuity in her look. Because when you're sporting the food co-op worker from '82 mess, you really need to have the unmanageable mullet to go with. And she doesn't disappoint.

Please Make the Paisley Stop

Today we'll be discussing a suburban epidemic known as Vera Bradley. These brightly colored pillows with a strap are very affordable for designer handbags as in "I only paid fifty dollars for this quilted horror". Not at all surprisingly, this trend originated in the South. Apparently when old ladies were leaving the plantation for a day of shopping at Lilli Pulitzer, they felt the need for paisley luggage in which to carry their knitting. When I see these out in public, I want to vomit all over them. My indigestion is made worse by the fact that the bags are oft accompanied by those pants with little embroidered turtles or anchors or something that aren't pajamas and Crocs. Many times in my life I've considered performing a fashion experiment by rocking an ugly trend just to see if it catches on. I feel this is what happened with these bags. One day some stoned kid carried one as a joke around a college campus and...presto! everyone else fell into line. If you happen to wear this bag or know someone who does, don't worry. I fully support people wearing whatever the hell they want. I'll just make fun of you. My Gucci may hurt the shit out of my shoulder, most certainly isn't machine washable, and cost a small fortune, but I look fabulous carrying that shit.

No, silly, onesies are for babies!

I have to admit, when I saw this outfit, I was in a club. A nightclub. I know, I know, I should expect to see these type of outfits in such a place blah, blah, blah. Here's what I think: when you go out "dancing" and presumably searching for a mate (for a night or a lifetime), wouldn't you want to look your best? This adult onesie is doing nothing for this poor girl. If she were a celebrity, this is the sort of outfit that would spark a "baby bump watch" of extreme proportions leading to many a gossip magazine cover proclaiming "baby joy" and highlighting her empowering decision not to marry her baby daddy. Then her publicist would have to make one of those humiliating statements that her uterus is empty and she's just chubby and has a penchant for unflattering tops. Or bottoms. Or whatever the hell you call this frock. Onesie notwithstanding, what on earth are those shoes all about? I saw a lot of shoes like these while I was shopping in Stuart Weitzman for my wedding. And I sometimes see them in the Vicky's catalogue in the "office wear for porn studio receptionists" section. And you can't really tell by the photo, but I must add that the background color on the jumper is an ecru and the shoes are a true white. Bad, bad no-no.

Saturday In the Park

Behold:
As you may be able to decipher from the above picture, this photo was taken on a warm spring day in a beautiful outdoor setting. In this type of situation, I feel that leather pants are innapropriate when you aren't at (or planning to attend) the Folsom Street Fair. But that's just me.

If wearing these pants wasn't a mistake, tucking in the shirt really, really, was.


Ah, the best for last. If you can't see it in the photo, let me be the one to tell you that, yes, those are nude pantyhose. I actually think this is the one element that makes sense. I mean, if you're going to bite the bullet and wear leather pants on a warm day, you might not be able to remove them without taking precautionary measures. Best not to let them actually come into contact with any skin, dig?