Help me find the F train

Filene’s Basement needs to ban all non-bra wearers from its bra section.   Sorry, the space is too small for your non-bra wearing five year old, purse holding husband, or the huge ass strollers that all New York parents are required to have on hand at all times.

Nope, only those of us who can use a bra can enter the bra section.

Filene’s was a big disappointment.  They had Theory, but only the ugly stuff.   I weep for the taste of the average Filene’s Basement shopper.  Polyester suits farther than the eye could see, Dana Buchman and Jones  NY Mom-Jeans suits, Betsey “Acid Trip” Johnson accessories.  This is where sartorial taste comes to die.   I did manage to find a cashmere cardigan way marked down.  And a bra to keep the girls in place under the cardigan.  The store was offering 20% off the lowest market price, so I did manage to replenish my sock and underwear supply for under $30.

But the clothes–I must be the only woman who actually wants to be taken seriously.  Everyone else is dead set on dressing like 19 year-old sorority skank.  I saw a 50 something woman wearing uggs on the subway this morning.  Cleavage, bright colors, unflattering smocks, cheap fabric, low rises.

I’m not asking for much–I want to look put together, wear items that flatter my figure and coloring.  I don’t want to show my underwear.  I don’t want to have to lotion up my muffin top to protect it against the elements it will inevitably be exposed to when I wear jeans.

I am not 60 years old.  I am not a Mormon.  I am an adult woman with several graduate degrees, a modicum of taste, and professional job where it is to my detriment to dress young.

My friends mock me relentlessly for this– but I tend to find what I’m looking for at J.Crew.  Their pants fit, their suits are wool, their sweaters and shirts fit my torso.  Oh, and along with the trendy colors, J.Crew sells items in classic colors.

Now, J.Crew is not without its flaws.  Every holiday season, the company tries to convince consumers that it won’t be Christmas without a $500 silver bugle beaded cashmere tank top and matching tuxedo pants.  And the Crew Cuts models are just miniaturized J.Crew models.  In other words, the stuff of nightmares.

But did I mention that their pants fit me?  And flatter my figure?  Most of my suits are from J.Crew.  And if you know how to sew on loose button, their shirts hold up amazingly well.

So after not finding slacks at Filene’s, I hoofed it to J.Crew and found a pair of slate grey chinos in a winter weight fabric.   Sure I had to pay retail.  I know waiting for sales means I don’t get my preferred pants length (i.e. not dragging on the ground).  This season, however, these were the one pair of perfect pants.  So I can justify shelling out an extra $30 to save myself another three weeks stuck in dressing rooms looking at my butt.

I don’t know why men hate shopping for clothes.  Their pants come in 16 different lengths.  Women, on the other hand are assumed to either be under 5′3″ or over 5′10″.   Those of us in the middle better invest in a good tailor, or resign ourselves to never wearing flats.

Men’s waist sizes are measuring in actual inches, instead of the the Zen Koan that is women’s sizing.  What is a true size 6?  Some sixes swim on me.  Others I cannot get over my hips.  To be a six, I must be one with the size six item.

Women often have to pick through racks of brightly colored polyester items to find something that is well made and in a neutral color.  Men have stores full of wool suits in dignified greys and blues.  Do you know why so many women show up to court in the default black suit?  Because our alternatives were teal with big tweed flowers sewn to the lapels.

Men get to select shirts that not only have sleeves that match their arm-span, but they can find shirts made for their neck size, down to a quarter of an inch.  Women are lucky if they can find a shirt that only has minimal gaping at the bust.

If I had access to the clothing that men have access to, shopping would be a breeze.  Shopping would be done quickly and efficiently.  Compromises would not be made.

So yeah, men should shut up.

Yawn

Election fatigue…want it to be Tuesday so I can just vote already…

Yes I been black, but when I come back

It seems that the 80s YA Lit Snark blog inevitably does a review of “Mallory and the Trouble with Twins“.

Tiff did it (and first, because Tiff did it first for the entire sub-genre of YA Lit Snark 80s nostalgia blogs), the Dairi Burger did it, Tales of a Former Walking Highlighter did it, BSC Snark did it, What Claudia Wore did It.

I can kind of see why so many people review the 21st book in the Baby-sitter’s club series. This book has everything that we love to hate about the BSC:

1. Outfit descriptions up the wazzoo. You’d be amazed what you can do with push-down socks. Like push them down.

2. The continued agony that is being Mallory Pike,

3. Claudia’s creative spelling. To whit: “Malery, you can have the twines”, p. 56…And ‘Malery’ is all like “I can haz teh twinez”

4. This is yet another book where Jessi is black.

5. And Dawn is an individual,

6. Baby-sitting charge’s parents bat-shit insane. As usual.

7. Baby-sitters managing to save the day and successfully help the children of Stonybrook live better lives. Neatly wrapped up in 15 chapters or less.

8. Margo Pike almost barfs.

9. Trips to Washington Mall and the piercing hut.

What will everyone pierce?

Well, Claudia got another hole in one ear, which might look weird on someone else, but on Claudia it looked fabulous. Mallory and Jessi got chaste first peircings–one hole in each ear. Kind of a bummer if you consider that Daria’s first peircing was a belly-button ring. Dawn got two holes in each ear, because individuals get multiple piercings…

You know, it’s great that Dawn’s an individual and all; but I kind of stopped giving a shit after like the second chapter of “Dawn and the Terrible 3″. We get it. She eats tofu and wears funky clothes.

On the other hand, Claudia …well, she is historically the only person from a Japanese family (she’s either second or third generation) who has never even tasted tofu. As for Claudia’s clothes– she’s secretly visiting a mental patient in a nearby ‘bin and getting fashion tips, you know, as opposed to individual picking out indivdual outfits, using her individual judgement as an individual.

So as you see, Dawn is the true individual here, not Claudia. I sometimes wonder if the Dawn is an individual theme would have made more sense if Ann M. Martin had taken time to flesh out her characters instead of having a Chapter 2 in every book where the narrator would laboriously rehash such descriptions as “Dawn is a real individual”? “And Kristy is a bull-dyke.”

But back to the peircing hut– or what wouldn’t they pierce.

Is it just me, or could you totally see Mary Anne getting a tongue stud during high school?– sort of a nice way to rebel against her over protective father. And a great way to keep the boyfriends coming. And bother Kristy. And by bother, I mean bother. In the hot wet mess sense.

Mary Anne, you bad ass, you.

Did I mention the outfit descriptions?

My mother sent me my old copy of “Mallory and the Trouble with Twins”. The pages are yellowed, and I wrote my name in the front cover with tourquoise pen.

I must have done this so that my little brother didn’t mistake my copy of “Mallory and the Trouble with Twins” for his copy. Or because I took this book to JAP camp with me, and didn’t want to risk it getting mixed up in some other girl’s book collection—

Oh but wait, no one else read at JAP camp. In fact, so few people actually read at Camp Agawak that I was known as the girl who was always reading. And wow, you’re reading another book. You must like read all the time.

All fucking summer.

I think this is the reason why I spent most of my twenties holed up in the ivory tower. I wanted to be surrounded by other people who are always reading. Or always drinking. One of those.