Dear Crop Tops,
You might remember me from the scathing note I sent to your sister, the shrug sweater, in 1997. To recap, it said something like: “Why do you parade around like you are a real sweater when you are so obviously just a PART of a sweater?” This was a dark time for teen girls in general: we had to wear unflattering turtlenecks and light-denim jeans and anything else the sadistic costumers on Friends could come up with. But the shrug was the worst. The shrug acted like it could keep you warm or complement any ensemble, when really it just bunched up in your armpits and neglected your core. At best, a shrug sweater made you look like you were borrowing clothes from your baby-aged cousin; at worst, it made you look like style-hating dogs had maliciously eaten the bottom part of your cardigan. My point is, the shrug got the message and resigned itself to the bargain bin at Goodwill for all of eternity. You are the same as the shrug sweater, but worse, because as far as I can tell, you don’t even pretend to serve a function. You’re so “free and loose” that I still have to wear a bra, but you cover up nothing the bra doesn't. You’re a glorified napkin bib, and you should be ashamed of yourself.
Warmly,
Sophie
