Fashion Fail

Bast knows, I am a billion and one half light years away from being a fashion plate. Hell, I’m a certifiable fashion don’t.

My idea of a smart, snazzy outfit for a night on the town is a pair of black leggings worn under that comfy, fab black, loosely woven sweater I got at the Waterloopleinmarkt in Amsterdam. This, of course, topped off with my black leather biker vest and lavender suede mocs.

1) Comfort first.
2) You can’t go wrong with black.
3) A hint of purple somewhere.

Rules to live by!

Still, I don’t need to be Anna Wintour  to recognize a train wreck when I see one.

After work on Tuesday, Jen and I went down to Kenmore Square for a lovely blue bev before heading home. The Sox were out of town, beating the bloomers off the Tampa Bay Rays (Is that even a real team? When did they come into existence?) down in Florida so, huzzah and hurray, we easily found parking. 

While hunting up quarters for the meter, we spied a young, lithe thing at the meter ahead of us.
What caught my eye first was her emerald green quilted, poofy vest. Gorgeous color BUT you can make that sucker out of silk and velvet (as this one appeared to be) and it’s STILL gonna make you look like the Michelin man after the All You Can Eat Sunday morning buffet at Pizza Hut.

Next, I got a gander at the long smock hanging below the vest’s hem. It was made of a cream colored, pleated organza, in a billowing A shaped cut (back in the ‘80s, I had one in a muted blue, tea rose shade). Beautiful shirt and it should’ve been the star of her outfit -- not jammed underneath that mattress cover masquerading as a vest.

Underneath this, was the dernière pièce du mal absolu. A pair of cocoa colored, satin leggings with a wide, nubbly matte strip down the length of the seams. Here’s the real crime -- that beautiful, milk-chocolate-with-a-dash-of-cinnamon satin was ruched all up. From waist to ankles it was gathered and gusseted. Wow and damnation -- this was a near criminal thing to do to an otherwise lovely and innocent measure of cloth.

I couldn’t bring myself to look at her shoes. I knew they’d be some wretched insult to the cow who’d given his life for them and a further clanging, discordant note.

You know how it’s possible to take a whole passel of different items -- toss them together and you can get heaven? In food you can achieve a bril curry. In art you get Julian Schnabel. In fashion you get Rod the Mod Stewart.

Sadly, this otherwise attractive young woman achieved fashion FAIL versus chic transcendence.

Gotta give her props for effort though. I’d rather see a look gone astronomically off the rails than another dull, uniform-ish, gotta-look-like-everyone-else snoozer any day.