Fashion

Dear Eva and married women everywhere, Hey, no hard feelings. I get it. You want to look your best for your boo, and I have somehow become the poster child for letting yourself go. (I'm giving Faded Hoodie from College the side eye, but whatever.) I know I'm slouchy and sloppy and usually unflattering. But I don't cause divorce! People cause divorce. If anything, I can be good for marriage. Really. First of all, I make all your other clothes look hot. Wear those pencil skirts and skinny jeans all the time and Ryan will just get used to it. Change out of me and into that dress and he'll take notice. Wow, what a transformation! (Anyway, you know Ryan thinks your hot no matter what.) Secondly, wearing me sends him an important message: "I am not my husband's toy." Because you're...
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Dear Kendall, Take a moment and remove yourself from your current situation, if you can, to a life that isn’t riddled with excess and only hearing the word “yes” to your wants and requests. Now, imagine you’re from a small town and/or Third-World country where your only way to get out of your current social class, achieve your dreams, get a green card or just gain better work conditions is to become a high-fashion model. You have to leave for six months to a year sometimes, signing contracts you can barely understand, let alone oblige to, almost without choice. You’re away from your family, your friends and everything you know. You live in a one-bedroom apartment with six other girls in the same situation in this Big Apple, New York City. Did I mention you’re only 17 when all of...
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Dear Low-Cut Pants, I’m told that you feel grievously injured by my “radical” decision to buy you a size too large and belt you as close to my natural waist as I can get you, as if you were pants of a more reasonable design. I am aware that this makes your butt all bunchy and doesn’t look good. That’s why I’m compelled to wear a jacket with you, even if it’s really too hot for the jacket and I’m wearing a silk shirt and silk combines with my underarm perspiration in such a way that I end up bearing a striking olfactory resemblance to cat urine. You think this is irrational, do you? You think I’m cutting off my nose to spite my face? Well, let me tell you something, Low-Cut Pants: you weren’t making me any friends when I was wearing you the way your designer intended, either. For...
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Dear Eyebrows, How did we get here? When I looked at you in the mirror a few minutes ago in the men’s room, I barely recognized you, your untamed strands pointing in every direction but the proper one. Have I ignored you so long that you felt you needed to give me some sort of wake-up call? Has my treatment of you been so shabby that you felt the only way to get back at me was to be so unruly, so out of line, so … blond? I mean, I haven’t been blond in, like, 15 years. The rest of the hair has moved on from blond, to that sandy brownish color, and now, slowly but steadily, to gray. Not you. Not only have you steadfastly refused to follow along with the graying process (for which I’m somewhat grateful, I suppose), but you’ve carried it to an extreme, don’t you think? Look, I know you...
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Dearest Lost Bikini Bra, I wish I had the words to tell you how keenly I miss you. We met at a hole-in-the-wall togs shop in Bondi Beach, Australia. The woman behind the counter took in my 34Ds with the cool appraising eye of a jeweler. “This is what you need,” she told me flatly. “It’s this one or nothing.” You were a feat of engineering to rival the Great Pyramids. Your genius was in your simplicity. With two wires, two teeny strings, and two triangles of cloth, you and I violated the law of gravity together. Fuck off, Mr. Newton. These apples are never falling down. Look, Lost Bikini Bra, I don’t hate my body, but let’s be realistic: love handles here, a bit extra on the tummy there, and breasts that haven’t been able to pass the pencil test since junior high. But when...
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Dear Slacks, I can’t believe your awful timing. It normally requires all of my focus and concentration to keep my deposition outline and exhibits in order, but now I’m forced to contend with the very real possibility that our court reporter will spot my underpants through the gaping hole in my pant-ass. Yes, I have put on weight since we first came together, and I probably should have powered up my laptop while I was standing, instead of performing the task while positioned in a deep catcher’s stance alongside the conference table. I figured I might as well stay down, since I was already crouched to plug the laptop’s power cord into the floor outlet. What a mistake! Great, here comes opposing counsel with a smarmy look on his face. He must know something is up. He probably heard...
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Dear J. Crew, There’s something I need to talk to you about. Something I saw on page 58 of your February 2012 catalog that I just can’t get out of my head. But first, a potentially embarrassing bit of background info, lest you think I’m just some weirdo internet troll with ulterior motives rather than a loyal customer writing out of legitimate concern, or at least something resembling concern. In my closet right now, there is what a lot of people would consider an absurd amount of clothing purchased from your company: 13 long-sleeve button-down shirts, 15 sweaters, one suit, two ties, two pairs of pants, and this really great thermal-lined hoodie you stopped selling years ago. This is to say nothing of the few pairs of shorts I’ve packed away for the winter, or the two short-sleeve...
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Dear IMG Fashion, All eyes will be on you this week as you make your big debut as the new owners of Toronto Fashion Week. As you’ve had many dealings with fashion folk — since you run about 16 various fashion weeks around the world from Mumbai to Miami — you know they can be a critical bunch. They will ferret out and find fault with the most mundane details — from not being able to find the washrooms to not getting a front-row seat. I’ve covered many fashion weeks both internationally and in Toronto, so I’m going to address the big picture. Last week, 12 designers showed their collections before your official event. This off-schedule rogue fashion week is growing considerably. If a few more big-name Canadian designers join that lineup and go head-to-head with your event on the...
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