However. "Real Life" doesn't mean that the inhabitants of Middle Earth are free to dandy about the Upper West Side in bad casual sportswear. Are you listening, Viggo Mortensen? That's right. I caught you today sunning on the Deluxe diner patio at Broadway and W 113th in that scary, scary orange short-sleeve button-up! Now, let's just take a step back and discuss this constructively. Yes, the short sleeves are bit last summer, but this sudden flush of warmth had me aimlessly scrambling around the closet this morning, too. Also, I don't have a problem with the orange, per se, and I generally salute people’s enthusiasm for that side of the spectrum. Except...well, you're already kind of orange:
Your hair is orange, your skin is orange (in a sexy, tanned leather kind of way, mind you), and you apparently enjoy holding orangey...leaf-press nature journals? Lothlorien verse imbued with magical powers? Hey, that's cool. When the rest of you is navy and nicely striped, your natural orangeness makes you look healthy and boyish. But orange has its limits. If this was Project Runway, designer/smug judge panel mainstay Michael Kors would probably comment with something that involved the phrase "matchy-matchy" or even the delightful industry acronym "DTM" (dyed-to-match). And as much as we all wish this were Project Runway, and I had recently replaced Nina Garcia as fashion editor of Elle, you owe much more than this to the good people of Gondor. Therefore, it’s time you face your glorious destiny as bestowed to you by the ages and embark on the journey of tightness. Go in peace.
1 comment:
WHAM! Double WHAM!
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