In a kind of mini “part 2” to my Jersey Shore post yesterday, I thought I would mention something that really DOESN’T work for me: Pauly D’s hair. In my neck of the woods, it actually is a rather popular hairstyle. This gravity-defying hairstyle, ostensibly styled in a wind tunnel, employs a ton of hair gel. I believe it might be impossible to actually run one’s fingers through.
This is the original and still the best. But he’s not the only one in entertainment with that style. Zach Efron was recently spotted with a modified blowout.
Oh, Zefron, that’s not how you mend a broken heart.
Apparently this is some guy on a professional football team (note how much I know about such things):
Molto Guido. And it has definitely made its way into the masses, for people who GTL together, and want to look alike in their d-bagginess:
(The crispy tan and duckface is definitely a BONUS.)
However, this remains one of my favorite moments ever:
Let’s attempt (after much effort) to ignore that fact that he’s borrowing Edward Cullen’s wardrobe from his “Meadow” collection and rocking the sleeveless button-up. What, in the name of all that’s holy, is crawling across his upper lip?!?
I know, gentlemen, that last month was “Movember” (aka “No Shave November”). You got past the first uncomfortable grow-out, and then discovered that it’s kind of awesome to not have to shave every morning. Your routine was streamlined. And gradually, oh so gradually, you figured that you should go back to that clean-shaven look. But in the meantime, how FUN would it be to shave it into all kinds of facial hairogami first?
I love facial hair. With a passion. But the patchy mustache or the 70’s homage leaves me cold. The gooseflesh pale skin with a coarse mustache is not a good look. I’ll put up with some rug burn from good stubble, but those mustaches should never come near me.
Full groomed beard. Stubble. Clean-shaven. Well-tended goatee IF it looks good on you. Those are your options, gentlemen. Avoid the mustache, for everyone’s sake. Don’t follow the hipsters down that dark road. Because that road…leads to Joaquin Phoenixville.
Sometimes life is not fair. I’ve been single for a while. I’m still searching for my “soul mate”. I make an effort. So why, God, WHY is my former colleague and fellow single gal getting married for the third time when she swears by Z-Coil shoes?!?
When she came to work with these monstrosities on her feet, I was so ashamed. We had been WORKING through things. She was coming out of a bad marriage, and I was introducing her to things like makeup, hair color to cover the grey, and shirts without stains on them. She had even bought a couple of pairs of sassy chunky heels to wear to work. And then she brought the Z-Coils out. But they’re so COMFORTABLE, she argued. I believe I may have turned up my nose at her at this point. I have nothing against comfort. I wear flats to work because I’m on my feet in the classroom much of the day. I have a pair of purple Sofft Mary Jane heels that I love to wear. But I cannot abide by the Z-Coils.
The point of the shoe, it seems, is to showcase this awful, industrial spring at the heel. Most of the shoes look like an amalgamation between shock absorbers and orthopedic shoes. Perhaps they are meant to be like a futuristic robot-type construct in a Tim Burton world. Some of the styles are meant to be more “modern”. Their tagline is “Fashion Never Felt So Good”. I would have to strongly disagree with the word “fashion”.
I refuse to believe that any man finds these super-sexy. That he whispers into his woman’s ear “go put those hawt spring shoes on”. That he watches her sway as she walks away and thanks the good lord for those Z-Coils. I can’t imagine that those shoes helped my friend get her next husband.
Trust me, it’s not just the name I disagree with. It’s the entire thing.
This is not my first time around with harem pants. I will admit to wearing them as a 13-year-old girl. They were white, jersey knit, with a chain that draped across the front of the waistband. I wore them with a blue and white striped shirt with attached white vest. I was quite proud of this ensemble. While all around me were wearing their stirrup pants, I was sporting a different style entirely.
This time, however, it’s like harem pants on CRACK. Mine were comfortable, but my goodness, there is no need for a gigantic, saggy crotch in one’s pants. These girls could be smuggling adult diapers beneath! I guess that does make them the perfect choice for the incontinent, but other than that, they have no redeeming value. Some have taken the crotch to an extreme, making it more like a closed-up skirt with feet holes. Or, by another name, a hobble.
I fear the harem pant. I don’t want to wear it, I don’t want to see it. If you’re not Barbara Eden, walk past them. At a quick clip.
One of my students, who has quite the flair for the dramatic, was talking to me recently about the Renaissance Faire that she went to this summer. Of course, she dressed up in her best Renaissance garb. “You know who won the costume contest?” she asked me. “A FAIRY.” She practically spat the words. And I have to agree with her sentiment. How is it that a fairy can win a Renaissance costume contest? Seriously, people, get a grip–it’s not like fairies are an extinct species that only existed in the Renaissance. Life is not a Shakespearean play, regrettably.
I think popular culture has left some with the impression that Renaissance women dressed something like a cross between a pirate, Xena Warrior Princess, and a Victoria’s Secret model. Just because you slap a corset on doesn’t mean that you’re from the Renaissance. A ton of cleavage is not a trademark Renaissance look, despite appearances. I know this; I’m a History teacher.
Consider this rather cranky post a substitute for the unwritten post I should have done for Halloween, that would have been subtitled “Fairy Tale Princesses are Not Whores”. It seems that Halloween is a chance to reinterpret classical female character costumes with short skirts and tons o’ boob. Hello! Alice in Wonderland was approximately 8 years old. Not a slutty 27-year-old skank. Also, the Middle Ages were known more for practicality than for hearty-bosomed fun. It’s hard to adjust your neckline just right to show cleave and shoulder when you’ve got the Black Death.
Hear that, wenches?
(P.S.–how much do I love that the owner of the blog where I found this last picture named it “Mensa”? I think I’ve found my soulmate.)
For all the pretty, fun, lovely things I want to put on this blog, there are some things that are just too horrible that I find impossible to turn away from. For this reason, I have decided to begin FUG ME FRIDAY. (With apologies to the Fug Girls. Sorry. But the Urban Dictionary says that Steinbeck used it, so it’s good enough for me. [While you’re at the Urban Dictionary, look something up! Can I suggest Hot Carl?] [Okay, don’t click on that link if you’re squeamish. Apologies again.])
I have a complicated history with the secretary at my school. She was hired because her father is the principal, and I have very little respect for her. With some recent incidents (like her slapping me in the face after I got back from having major dental work), our relationship is a little strained, to say the least. Yesterday, on a very cold day, she came to work in a leather jacket, a beret, and flip-flops, causing me a major WTF? moment. But I well prefer flip-flops to the other shoes she’s been known to wear–the dreaded Vibram FiveFingers:
The website claims that these shoes are very ergonomic and healthy. They claim to improve your balance, agility, and proprioception. (Is that even a word? Did they make that up?) They claim that their shoes are like walking barefoot. I love being barefoot. I’m barefoot right now. But I think I’d rather walk barefoot over blacktop and through goat head thorns than in these things.
My reaction to these shoes is almost visceral. First of all, they creep me out. The little toes are almost obscene, and I feel like the sensation of having something between your toes would be odd. I’m very picky about flip-flops, because I don’t like anything that rubs between my toes. They are wacky. A small child once grilled our secretary about her weird shoes. I figure she probably has to deal with that all the time. There is nothing flattering or womanly about them. And also the name sounds vaguely like a sexual aid.
I’m sure they’re comfortable. But if life was about comfort, we’d spend all our time in sweats and muu muus. That’s just not a world I can live in.
I will not be telling our secretary to wear REAL SHOES, because that might get me hit (again). But at a cost of $100, one would imagine she could buy some nice shoes instead of these oddball freaky shoes.
What do you think? Would you wear the creepy toe shoes?