Friday, April 30, 2004
Tempted by the Fruit of a Brothah
The other day I discovered that my local Old Navy features a secret underground clearance section, in addition to the fake "Sale Rack" on the main floor, which contains items that aren't actually discounted but are strategically crammed together and placed as far to the rear as possible so as to look as if they've just been marked down. Upon closer inspection you're sure to note that these items are actually among the most expensive in the store, but if you're not quick-witted enough to realize that $34.99 isn't -- by Old Navy standards -- by any stretch of the imagination a sale price, you'll be tricked into thinking you're getting a deal. It was only because a hovering unseasoned sales associate took pity on my futile search for a pair of 6s among the copious 14s through 20s, and slipped up & told me that I could find the same pair of jeans -- in my actual size -- downstairs for half the price, that I discovered where the real deals are.
But enough about my eternal quest for the perfect pair o' jeans, and enough about good deals. What I'm here to tell you about today is a certain Sage Green Tiny Fit™ Sheer Tee, and how, via making me look like I have boobs, it has worked to my benefit in the snagging of my future husband.
By 'future husband' here, I don't actually mean 'the man I will one day marry', but rather 'the financially well-off & sufficiently-cute 40 yr-old divorcee who would raise me up, who would help me down! who would get me right out of this godforsaken town!, and who -- were I lacking in the soul department -- would immediately be enlisted in the task of serving as my sugardaddy.' In this particular case, we're looking at 'the classically beautiful Jewish business manager with eyes like the sea after a storm on the fifth floor who was all rude to me via email before he saw what I looked like in person and then couldn't stop checking out my rack on the elevator and immediately became all charming & chivalrous'.
Keep in mind that by 'Jewish' here, I don't mean Jewish Jewish, but rather 'culturally' Jewish, a 'societal' Jew, as in Jewish-seeming, i.e., 'could pass off as being a Jew, via unabashed candor exhibited in being unable to refrain from open-mouthedly checking a girl out on the elevator whilst being totally oblivious to the fact that it's so damn obvious.' I have no idea if this guy is technically, religiously Jewish. His surname would indicate he isn't, but he does sport shiny black loafers an awful lot, and he has a way of looking at you that seems to say you're the reason his dreidel's suddenly spun wildly out of control, and to me those are far Jewier characteristics than the refusal to accept that Jesus is the son of God.
But before we get into why such behavior is considered Jewish in my book, let's first go back to the question that begs to be answered: But, Bess, what happened to all things Tiny Fit™ being your nemesis? Why the change of heart?, you ask. And, trust me, I know what you're saying -- I feel ya and I sympathize -- but forgive my female embodiment of all things fickle for just a minute, and try to bring yourselves to know and love the glorious concept of a garment attribute that can be summed-up in a single word: Sheer.
You see, adding the Sheer element to the Tiny Fit™ t-shirt somehow reverses the chest-minimizing function of the regular Tiny Fit™ t-shirt. Don't ask me how, but it does. The sleeve-length is an integral part of this garment-body relationship, too. Since the sleeving is minimal but not completely non-existent, the fatness of your arms is somehow camouflaged, and even though, yes, you are also employing the aide of a padded push-up bra, the sheer material clings to your torso subtly enough to direct the viewers' eyes directly to your suddenly-proportional breasts.
Hey, a flat-chested sister's gotta take what she can get. Especially when she's got a severe case of P.T.J.D. (Post Traumatic Jew Disorder), and the attention's coming in the dangerously familiar form of gaping-mouthed glances from the Jewish Brothah in Accounts Receivable. Hell, if you think I could have gotten to where I am today without falling for a Jew or two, you're quite mistaken.
When the company's temps just keep getting hotter, younger, brattier, and less interesting, comes a time when a girl realizes she's got an expense report awaiting approval on the fifth floor. If you think I can just stand by idly in my Sheer Tiny Fit™ Tee while there are dreidels to be spun, think again.
But enough about my eternal quest for the perfect pair o' jeans, and enough about good deals. What I'm here to tell you about today is a certain Sage Green Tiny Fit™ Sheer Tee, and how, via making me look like I have boobs, it has worked to my benefit in the snagging of my future husband.
By 'future husband' here, I don't actually mean 'the man I will one day marry', but rather 'the financially well-off & sufficiently-cute 40 yr-old divorcee who would raise me up, who would help me down! who would get me right out of this godforsaken town!, and who -- were I lacking in the soul department -- would immediately be enlisted in the task of serving as my sugardaddy.' In this particular case, we're looking at 'the classically beautiful Jewish business manager with eyes like the sea after a storm on the fifth floor who was all rude to me via email before he saw what I looked like in person and then couldn't stop checking out my rack on the elevator and immediately became all charming & chivalrous'.
Keep in mind that by 'Jewish' here, I don't mean Jewish Jewish, but rather 'culturally' Jewish, a 'societal' Jew, as in Jewish-seeming, i.e., 'could pass off as being a Jew, via unabashed candor exhibited in being unable to refrain from open-mouthedly checking a girl out on the elevator whilst being totally oblivious to the fact that it's so damn obvious.' I have no idea if this guy is technically, religiously Jewish. His surname would indicate he isn't, but he does sport shiny black loafers an awful lot, and he has a way of looking at you that seems to say you're the reason his dreidel's suddenly spun wildly out of control, and to me those are far Jewier characteristics than the refusal to accept that Jesus is the son of God.
But before we get into why such behavior is considered Jewish in my book, let's first go back to the question that begs to be answered: But, Bess, what happened to all things Tiny Fit™ being your nemesis? Why the change of heart?, you ask. And, trust me, I know what you're saying -- I feel ya and I sympathize -- but forgive my female embodiment of all things fickle for just a minute, and try to bring yourselves to know and love the glorious concept of a garment attribute that can be summed-up in a single word: Sheer.
You see, adding the Sheer element to the Tiny Fit™ t-shirt somehow reverses the chest-minimizing function of the regular Tiny Fit™ t-shirt. Don't ask me how, but it does. The sleeve-length is an integral part of this garment-body relationship, too. Since the sleeving is minimal but not completely non-existent, the fatness of your arms is somehow camouflaged, and even though, yes, you are also employing the aide of a padded push-up bra, the sheer material clings to your torso subtly enough to direct the viewers' eyes directly to your suddenly-proportional breasts.
Hey, a flat-chested sister's gotta take what she can get. Especially when she's got a severe case of P.T.J.D. (Post Traumatic Jew Disorder), and the attention's coming in the dangerously familiar form of gaping-mouthed glances from the Jewish Brothah in Accounts Receivable. Hell, if you think I could have gotten to where I am today without falling for a Jew or two, you're quite mistaken.
When the company's temps just keep getting hotter, younger, brattier, and less interesting, comes a time when a girl realizes she's got an expense report awaiting approval on the fifth floor. If you think I can just stand by idly in my Sheer Tiny Fit™ Tee while there are dreidels to be spun, think again.
Wednesday, January 21, 2004
Full Frontal Flat
If your body shape is anything like mine -- which is to say that from the waist up for all intents and purposes your physique resembles that of a 13 yr-old boy -- a late-blooming 13 yr-old boy, no less... you know, the kind who didn't start lifting over the summer with his wrestling buddies? -- then I trust you also hear the horror-film Wheeep! Wheep! violin squeal when you happen across a shirt at Old Navy marked "Tiny Fit™" And, if your body shape is anything like mine, I'm going to assume you already know what I mean by "all intents and purposes" here, thanks.
While it's true that I have major body image issues/misconceptions (there's a psychological term for this, but I can't remember what it is), not to mention a pretty obvious eating disorder, so does pretty much everyone I know. It's what makes us all so damn self-deprecatingly masochistically unique, but I digress. Nevertheless, there are a few things I know I'm not imagining in the warpedly deceitful mirror of pseudo-anorexia, and there are a few things I know to be societally unacceptable configurations of the female form. One of those things is that if you're flat-chested, you sure as hell better not have fat arms.
No, in this life, in this post-Raphaelite world in which slight (gasp!) plumpness is strictly out of the question, if your cup size isn't in the triple digits and your arms aren't twigs, the worst thing you can possibly do is attempt to sport a piece of fabric described -- rather enthusiatically, might I add, in italics -- as Tiny™, despite the oh-so-subtle marketing ploy behind the labeling designed to trick the big-boned demographic into thinking that since they're purchasing something marked "itty bitty", they've magically thinned down.
Thankfully I've had people around all my life to tell me I'm hideously disproportionate and should therefore take the proper precautionary steps in disguising my disfiguration prior to going out in public. Luckily every hyperspastically athletic, tapeworm-inflicted, scrawny little kid in my childhood weighed in at 90 lbs tops 'til mid-high school, enabling me to conclude that I was horribly obese, in turn practicing keen methods to cover it up accordingly. From my sister's sidelong sniggering at the bus-stop weekday mornings to my super-fashion-conscious ol' roommate's polite yet piteous suggestions on what I should change into instead before we go out on the town, my ass has been covered on that front. And so have my arms.
So, when scanning the sale items at Old Navy last weekend, as soon as the Wheep! Wheep! Wheep! died down, I headed over to an item of clothing I know I can sport, because a boy once told me I could.
Anyway, I headed over to Old Navy's semi-low-rise flat-front pant sector, and lo' and behold! -- there materialized a pair of loose tie-front cargo jeans for $12.99, only one pair left in my size! Upper half of my sadly disproportionate body aside, these jeans not only fit perfectly, but are of the softest, most lightweight denim. And the tie-front feature provides incredibly easy access for, ahem, all intents and purposes.
By "all intents and purposes" here, naturally I'm referring to quickly changing into my wrestling uniform to work out with my 13 yr-old buddies. Because, actually -- despite what society deems acceptable -- if you lifted my cargo cuffs to reveal my unfemininely sculpted calves, you'd swear that's exactly how I must have spent my summer vacation.
While it's true that I have major body image issues/misconceptions (there's a psychological term for this, but I can't remember what it is), not to mention a pretty obvious eating disorder, so does pretty much everyone I know. It's what makes us all so damn self-deprecatingly masochistically unique, but I digress. Nevertheless, there are a few things I know I'm not imagining in the warpedly deceitful mirror of pseudo-anorexia, and there are a few things I know to be societally unacceptable configurations of the female form. One of those things is that if you're flat-chested, you sure as hell better not have fat arms.
No, in this life, in this post-Raphaelite world in which slight (gasp!) plumpness is strictly out of the question, if your cup size isn't in the triple digits and your arms aren't twigs, the worst thing you can possibly do is attempt to sport a piece of fabric described -- rather enthusiatically, might I add, in italics -- as Tiny™, despite the oh-so-subtle marketing ploy behind the labeling designed to trick the big-boned demographic into thinking that since they're purchasing something marked "itty bitty", they've magically thinned down.
Thankfully I've had people around all my life to tell me I'm hideously disproportionate and should therefore take the proper precautionary steps in disguising my disfiguration prior to going out in public. Luckily every hyperspastically athletic, tapeworm-inflicted, scrawny little kid in my childhood weighed in at 90 lbs tops 'til mid-high school, enabling me to conclude that I was horribly obese, in turn practicing keen methods to cover it up accordingly. From my sister's sidelong sniggering at the bus-stop weekday mornings to my super-fashion-conscious ol' roommate's polite yet piteous suggestions on what I should change into instead before we go out on the town, my ass has been covered on that front. And so have my arms.
So, when scanning the sale items at Old Navy last weekend, as soon as the Wheep! Wheep! Wheep! died down, I headed over to an item of clothing I know I can sport, because a boy once told me I could.
"You know what you should start wearing?"I had no idea what he meant by "flat-fronted" pants, as at the time they were a relatively new concept. Shortly thereafter we went for a shopping jaunt at J. Crew in which, no joke, he picked things out that he thought I should start wearing. Of these items, the only thing I accepted was a tortoise-shell clip, which he insisted replace the commonplace elastic bands I used to tie back my hair. But again, I digress.
"Er, no... what?"
"You know, those flat-fronted pants?"
"Huh? Why?"
"Because you can."
Anyway, I headed over to Old Navy's semi-low-rise flat-front pant sector, and lo' and behold! -- there materialized a pair of loose tie-front cargo jeans for $12.99, only one pair left in my size! Upper half of my sadly disproportionate body aside, these jeans not only fit perfectly, but are of the softest, most lightweight denim. And the tie-front feature provides incredibly easy access for, ahem, all intents and purposes.
By "all intents and purposes" here, naturally I'm referring to quickly changing into my wrestling uniform to work out with my 13 yr-old buddies. Because, actually -- despite what society deems acceptable -- if you lifted my cargo cuffs to reveal my unfemininely sculpted calves, you'd swear that's exactly how I must have spent my summer vacation.
