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Wednesday, February 18, 2009

ALL COUTURE IS NOT CREATED EQUAL.

Well, I started my spring cleaning early this year; in my closet that is. It is interesting what I've collected over the years cause I wonder what possessed me to buy half that stuff I've crammed in the back of the closet and never worn. So I've decided to clear it out and replace it with yet more interesting pieces that I can look back and laugh at in the years to come. So I picked up the this months Elle magazine for a little inspiration. My daughter, Toni and I are examining those 20-something outfits that a 40-something parent might look decent in without creating a roar of laughter while out in public. You know, the kind of laugh you hear while someone is gagging on their food as you walk by? My daughter is so cute though. She thinks I'd look lovely in everything they have pictured; even that dress that looks like your carrying around a dead goose.

But for some reason, while were all sporting a major economic nuclear meltdown this season, I am thinking I should be a fashion diva this summer. Somewhere in my head, that renegade brain cell thinks that money will magically fall out of the sky, so I can smear myself in Gucci and Prada. This
must be a mid-life crisis I'm going through!

Though, after four kids I am amazed that I can still squeeze this butt in a size six pair of jeans. It's just that extra skin I was blessed with after carrying twins, that I have to roll up and tuck in the front of my pants (eeeewwww, gross!). No, it's not the gym or some amazing diet I'm on, it's just from running after my loveable little buggers for 11 years. They all think they're in training for the 2020 Olympics and they volunteered me to be their trainer! At least it has saved my butt from falling down to my ankles before it's time. But I still want to be able to wear some of that couture-kinda stuff (and I DON'T mean Juicy broadcasted on my rear!). At least before everything on me either starts to droop, fall off, or come apart at the seams (literally), when menopause takes over my body parts and I have to start wearing a "wide load" sign on my ass.

I need some pizzazz - some bling - because I'm less-than-thrilled with what's in my closet, and half archaic stuff is earmarked for my yard sale soon. So I gotta buy
something. Last summer it was like "throw on whaateeever, cause I 'm a mom so who really cares what the heck I look like while I'm shopping at Walmart's for pull-ups, milk, and old fart face cream." The only thing that motivated me out of my near-goth look last year was a pair of colorful "Miss Sixty" platform wedges on the Victoria's Secret website. These were some to-die-for shoes, okay! The kind that make you completely stop breathing while trying to figure HOW to make your husband feel guilty for SOMETHING he did, so he'll have to break down and buy them for you. Hmmmmmm..... Damn, I couldn't think of anything.

So I broke down and decided to take matters into my own hands. I was getting ready to do a smack down on that purchase button, when I realized that I was about to send almost $200.00 (because we know shipping cost are almost as much as the shoes) through cyber-somewhere, out of my laughable. so-called bank account for those multi-colored clod hoppers. One could hear my fingers suddenly screech to a blinding halt, like brakes on desert-dry pavement. I whimpered quietly to the fact that I would just have to wait till they went on sale. When they did go down to a reasonable $69 (that IS reasonable for Victoria's Secret), every single size in the color I wanted was sold out. All they had was brown in a size 10.
Could I manage a size 8 foot in a size 10 shoe? I think people would notice that stuffing in the toe of the sandle.

So, I'm back to leisurely mullying through the pages of my Elle when suddenly, I saw them. It was a picture of a pair of Louis Vuitton's (pronounced Lou-EE Vi-TAN), heels on page 186. OH - MY - GOD! I had to have these. These were not your ordinary stelletos. These were wild, savage, and primitive, with colors like that of the Serengeti melting over your cost-effective, self-manicured feet. Looking at these were like tapping into that same feeling I get when the kids are raving maniacs and I just want to run down the street - naked, like a crazy, savage person. But if I had these, I would still be running naked, but with style!

Then I took out my magnifying glass to locate the info on the shoes, which is typed in font size -5 because its so small. It says:
Python and leather sandal. LOUIS VUITTON. $2,700. Call 866-blah, blah, blah, blah. WHAT! $2,700 for something that resembles nothing short of a Halloween costume for your feet! Who in the hell pays $2,700 for a stinking pair of shoes? Then it hit me - Madonna, that's who. Cause now I remembered she had them on in another magazine with her leg sticking straight up in the air as to say "Naa, naa, naa, naa, naa.... I got em and you don't, you economically-challenged peasant!" My opinion of these shoes almost does a 180 degree turn-around , but then I .... I want them even more! Why is it built into our DNA that we always want what we can't have? And why did God command us "Thou Shalt Not Covet" when he knew we were gonna covet everything we saw anyway!? Was he ever thinking about the shoes?

I give up thinking that Louis will grace my feet this year and begin to turn pages again and then, there
IT is! The dress in the middle of the page. Hideous has now replaced ecstasy as my daughter and I gawk at the picture. The top of the page reads "Oh, Pioneers!" to announce that this is a special "Elle Fashion Trend" for the season. They think I should wear THAT! I don't know whether to laugh myself silly or be appalled that some Paxil-popping, fashion victim on 5th Avenue in New York actually thinks I should wear this outfit in public. Even my seven year old daughter is giggling hysterically at the "dress". On top of it, they want me to wear it with a pair of platform "Daisy Mae" wedges! Oh the shame that has come out of designer Marc Jacobs (pronounced IDIOT). Open mouth - insert finger - GAG!

Marc Jacobs, during a brain flagulation, thought it would be tres chic to introduce the "Little House on the Prairie" meets "Green Acres" look that even Zsa Zsa would run screaming from. I say it's the "I wish I could live in a covered wagon" look. He has designed this Holly Hobbie-looking, country-colored striped linen sundress. You know the type; cute black straps at the shoulder with that pleated ruffled hemline that extends from the knees down to the mid-calf that brings back fond memories for your great-great grandmother. And the ONLY reason he's made out of linen is so that he can call it "couture". He then combines THAT dress with a red and grey flannel plaid, "I wanna go plow the backfields", long-sleeve, frayed mandarin collar, button up, piece of shit SHIRT! If you added a pitchfork and a piece of cud hanging from your mouth, you'd have a great Halloween costume for this season!

I won't even get into the picture to the left of it where a catwalking toothpick is wearing my same great-great grandmothers freaking apron under some sort of black plaid, umbrella-looking, tunic. What in Sam's Hill is going on here (I don't know who Sam Hill is either, but my father use to say it a lot after he caught us baking mud pies in the oven)! And will someone please tell me why they think we should wear that deer antler, barn door hanging form of a necklace they've got pictured! If I bent over one time wearing that necklace, I would slash my carotid artery all over that Marc Jacobs, $1,795, piece of pioneer poppycock (I cannot believe I just said that word). And you know what the worst of it is? We're gonna actually SEE that stupid ensemble on some, apparently BLIND celebrity and people will ooh and ahh over it like it's the next best thing since genetically modified corn from Iowa! I think they would look like Laura Ingalls after she sniffed one too many poppy plants.

Needless to say, my quest for up-to-date haute couture has come to an abrupt halt with that one picture, popping my fashionista bubble. I am officially fashionably depressed because I either have to rob a bank to wear what I want or look like I'm backhoeing the lower fields. Maybe the stuff in my closet isn't so bad - after all, they've now become
classics.

I just have one question: could anybody loan me $2,700 for the Louis Vuitton's?

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