In college in the '90s, two of my friends attended what they thought was a casual party wearing J.Crew roll-neck sweaters, pegged oversized jeans and some version of Timberland hiking boots. When they arrived, they realized that it was more of a classy soiree--girls were done up in dresses and pearls and the boys wore blazers and nice shoes. My friends spent the rest of the night feeling like lumberjack wildebeests, enduring snotty girl stares, futilely hitting on guys, and explaining awkwardly to everyone they met, "We didn't know it was dressy!" I have made them tell me this story one hundred times.
I bring this up because a similar situation happened to me just last weekend.
Perhaps you can relate. I was out having an afternoon drink with a
friend. I had on no makeup, a miniskirt, flip-flops and a faded black
tank top with a huge, pink, cursive letter "J" on it, Laverne DeFazio-style (my mom gave me the shirt when I was 16).
Anyway. On my way home, I decided to stop by a party at another
friend's new restaurant. This is when fashion crisis struck. The women
inside were turned-out, in that sexy-chic-heels-blow-out New York way (this is Brooklyn,
people!). For the entire hour I was there, I felt like a dirty little troll doll. I
imagined all of the better outfits I have at home and I made lame
excuses to the people I talked to: "I'm just doing a drive-by!" and
"Oh, you know, I live, like, right around the corner!" (lie). Later, I thought about how cool it would've been if I'd adopted a confident "love me, love my Laverne tank" attitude, but, like my friends at the fancy college party, I can't help it, I'm a wardrobe apologist. P.S.. Though it wasn't appropriate for that occasion, I really do like the miniskirt I was wearing. It's by an extra-affordable label called Mink Pink (Elise has raved about its stuff a zillion times) and it's right now on sale.
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