Normally I'm happy to get the current Anthropologie catalog, to see the latest in Nice Clothes for the Skinny and Titless. Their marketing plan is a sort of rich, shabby-chic image, which is strangely appealing (although it's also been done to death).
But the latest catalog to drop into my mailbox has this photo on page 6; a singularly revolting pattern on an otherwise rather nice dress. I'm not sure if they meant it to look like an homage to that joke-shop staple "rubber vomit"; maybe they have a better sense of humor than I'm crediting them with.
A thing of beauty I saw in San Francisco on Halloween. Fortunately it didn't come in "girls who eat carbs" sizes, because I would have had to bring one home, and the coat closet has reached maximum overload already.
Big thanks to 14, who served as my glass reflection blocker
I know the purpose of this sort of display is to bring you in out of the cold mall, ready to spend 3 days pay on flimsy polyester constructions created to hoist your wee B cups skyward. I get that, I do. But something about the dull colours of the lingerie, the depressed slouch of the mannequin, the warning of "NOW OR NEVER" found me standing in the doorway taking snaps, not daring to step foot into this creepy bunker-like emporium of underwired devices.
After seeing this refreshment was needed. I found a little health food store where I bought a drink and an energy bar from a beautiful weeping hippy girl. And I realized that there are some good things about getting older; what we lose in beauty and ability to fit into tiny itchy lingerie we gain in not having to have drama-filled public phone conversations with flakey starter boyfriends at crappy retail jobs.