Somebody sometime said something about how what you wear is your message to the world. Sure I could go find the exact quote but you get the idea. I’m not entirely against this point of view. I just ask that it not be applied to me between the hours of 8 and 5 Monday through Friday. The only message you will receive is “Look. I found a cardigan on my floor.” I simply don’t do business casual. To quote Dita Von Teese, “It chafes me, if not physically then emotionally.” So I just get by on technicalities. No denim. No tshirts. No fun. It’s been said you should “dress for the job you want.” But I don’t think a Mrs. Lovett costume fits the dress code around here.
“I’m sorry, lovey. Mr. Todd’s in a meetin’. May I take a message, dear?”
I really do love my wardrobe outside the office environment. But within these walls, it’s dismal and unfixable. Mostly because I don’t want to spend my shopping money on work clothes. Ugh. I will drop silly cash on an audition dress, but dress pants? What is this? Church? Game day? Also, since I have the build of a small russet potato lodged onto two pool cues, I can’t ever find pants (in store – yes, I am aware of the “online” option) that are long enough. Except for, God bless it, The Limited. Thank you, Les Wexner, for allowing the long-legged to have some pant-related dignity. Your name may sound like a super villain, but your heart is true. At any other store (I’m looking at you EXPRESS) I have to try on the regular length, and then go home and order the long length. “Plus shipping!” says my Mother. True.
My latest fashion related white whale is a pair of skinny black pants that are neither jeans, nor leggings, nor ankle length. I want them to be able to go out for a day on the town, and then transition to dinner. I want them long enough to bunch slightly at the ankle. I would accept a zip ankle as well, as long as they err on the side of too long as opposed to flood length. I quote Agador Spartacus, “I want that nice Armani break in the front, you know? But don’t just pull it. Do it, down there– I got high–waters here.” I would also ask that they not flat iron my already non-existent butt resulting in a look similar to two flattened Pillsbury Crescent Rolls hermetically sealed to the back of my thighs (I’m looking at you, Target pants.)
A pause to tell an illustrative story. My sisters and one of their best friends came to visit me a few years ago. We decided to spend a day sunbathing at North Avenue beach. Because my once quite tawny complexion is now permanently lily white thanks to years in a theatre and aforementioned office day job, I decided to wear a tshirt over my two piece and expose only my legs to nature for fear that if I exposed the rest of my incandescent body I would serve as some sort of accidental beacon to the lake freighters and cause some sort of maritime disaster.
It worked. I didn’t come home with blisteringly red shoulders or anything, except for a tiny patch, just above my bikini bottom and below the hem of my shirt where a teensy but vulnerable bit of my back was burned. When we got back home that afternoon, I winced in pain as I sat down. “Let’s see it!” said my middle sister, a little too eagerly.
“My burn?” I asked.
“Yeah, show us how bad it is.”
“Alright,” so I stood, turning my back to the girls and exposing the line between the burn and my butt.
“Isn’t it flat?!” my sister whispered to her friend, giggling maniacally.
“Hey!” I shouted. “You just did that so I would show her my flat butt!”
“Well, we were just talking about it earlier. You wouldn’t have done it if I had just asked you to.”
Yes I would have. I’m an oldest. We will moon at any opportunity.
The point is, I would like these skinny black pants to perhaps enhance my posterior or at least pretend like I have one. I honestly don’t think these pants exist. Maybe on Pinterest. But clothing items on Pinterest are the sartorial equivalent of the Loch Ness Monster. You need more than a photo to prove it’s existence.
Look at her. So smug. And they aren’t even real.
Steve Feltham, who has dedicated the past 21 years to hunting for Nessie was unequivocval.
“It is the best photograph I think I have ever seen,” he said.
From his base on Dores beach and has studied many Nessie sighting photographs.
“I think the images are fantastic – that’s the pants…er animal I have been looking for all this time,” he said yesterday. (Source: Telegraph.co.uk)
My last clothing white whale was a tartan blouse that was neither a flannel nor sheer. Crisp but able to go to work or play or as a layering piece. Also, a true Scotch tartan, not just a plaid. I was looking for Wallace (my Grandpa’s namesake) or Black Stewart, or Dress Stewart. I looked everywhere. I thought I found it out of stock at J Crew where I called both my J Crew employee sister (who was helpful I should say) and J Crew customer service who I basically begged on my hands and knees, via email, to send me what they had. But they had nothing. I felt they wished they could help, though. Good folks, J Crew customer service.
Then I suspected I found it at LL Bean. But LL Bean is not targeting me as their customer. They are targeting my friend’s Moms. As such, the fashion photography at LL Bean is a bit…frumpy. So while the dimensions, description, and fabric were exactly what I was looking for (Black Stewart!). The styling of the photo wasn’t clear enough. Lucky for me, there’s an LL Bean store just up good I-94 and lo and behold, ’twas perfect. One unbutton lower than Bean’s advertisement, a stylish roll of the sleeves, and we are in youthful and stylish business.
Unfortunately, Bean is not in the market for hot skinny non-denim black pants with optional ankle zip.
WHERE DID YOU GET YOUR GODDAMN PANTS, BLAKE LIVELY?
Maybe someday I’ll find Nessie (I’m calling the pants “Nessie” now.) I can’t give up hope. The implications for society, er, my wardrobe are too far-reaching. All of a sudden, that sweater could go to dinner. Those boots could hit the town. That jacket could brunch. That tshirt could go out for drinks. The repercussions are astounding.
But what happens if I do find them? It’s like Frodo and Sam after they destroy the Ring. Now what? Do I just go back to The Shire and have a pint? Pretend like I still have purpose? Find another questing beast?
Yes.
A slightly shrunken, classic, not overly detailed or moto black leather jacket.
I believe.
A Rhinestone World 