Scrappy Little Nobody(38)

All the photos that ran in fashionland the next day were of me in a voluminous white coat. I met with my stylist to look at Oscar dresses and said, “Oh man, you won’t believe what I did last night.”

“No, I saw.” She was a little terse.

“Right . . . It’s just that this woman, like, said I was a ‘good sport’ for wearing the dress, and it felt like a dig and—”

“She said that? She saw what you were wearing and felt moved to say something passive-aggressive to you?”

“Yeah, basically.”

“Wow,” she said with a smirk. “She felt so provoked by a f*cking dress that she took a swipe at you. That’s pathetic. Man, if you’re messing up someone’s day with what you’re wearing, you’re doing something right.”

I liked that. That even someone from the fashion world was like, Dude, it’s just fashion. It’s supposed to be fun.

No one had prepared me for this part. I didn’t know I was going to have to learn about fashion. I thought I knew plenty about fashion. I knew gowns were more formal than short dresses, skirts were more formal than pants, and leaving the house in just socks and a sports bra would get you arrested. Now you’re telling me there’s more to fashion than finding a dress that shows enough boob to distract from your face?

I struggle with fashion, because growing up the way I did, it felt like something explicitly designed to distinguish people with money from people like me. Reading a magazine that said I was “supposed to” have some new bag or dress I couldn’t afford felt like crap. Now I get to wear these beautiful dresses and it’s hard to reconcile.

The first time I went to a fashion show, I went backstage afterward to meet the designer. I expected her to tell me the dress was really intended for someone less pasty and walk away. But she was nervous. She was almost beside herself. She was asking me what I thought of the show and telling me she wasn’t going to read reviews until the next day so that no matter what, she could at least enjoy the fruits of her labor for the rest of the night. She’d studied and worked for years; she’d crafted the pieces meticulously with the best materials and construction. This was her art, and I was looking at it like a corporate conspiracy to make me feel insecure.

Fashion is an art form and an expression of self. Creative outlets are hard to find, and if fashion is yours, go deep with it, baby; I can’t wait to see you shine. But if you’re feeling crappy because you accidentally scrolled through Gigi Hadid’s Instagram, remember, it’s just fashion. It’s supposed to be fun.

Now, going to events that are important to me or to colleagues is part of my life. I’m grateful to have anything to celebrate in my world, and if current custom dictates that I look halfway decent, I don’t want to disrespect that. I want to honor the event that I’m at and the designer who allows me to wear their work. I’m glad I got to see the vulnerable person behind an intimidating fashion show. I’m also grateful that someone shook me out of my protective shell of self-righteousness. It’s healthy. Even though I like my shell very much. There will always be people who use fashion as a status symbol. But I don’t wanna be friends with those people anyway.





Oh, Honey


Now I know just enough to know that I don’t know anything.

I learned there’s something called bias cut, which means that it’s going to look terrible on you unless you’re Gisele. I learned that nude shoes make your legs look longer. And I learned that before going out you should shine a very bright light at your crotch to make sure you can’t see your puss.

Short girls: get it tailored. For GOD’S SAKE, get it tailored! The wardrobe designer on Pitch Perfect, Sal Pérez, hammered this home for me because we don’t wear business clothes or silk dresses in those films, we wear Tshirts and denim jackets, and still, alterations are made. I used to just deal with the extra fabric that bunched at the bottom of my jeans until Sal had me try on a pair of Rag & Bone. I flew out of the dressing room. “This is amazing! It fits so well, even in the inseam!” I admired myself in the mirror, then sheepishly asked, “Does it fit because it’s a ‘cigarette’ cut?” Sal put his hand on my shoulder. “Oh, honey, it’s a capri.” So, non-capri pants might need hemming, but it’s totally worth it. Just because it’s not a luxury item doesn’t mean you’re a jerk for getting it altered.

Also, take in the sleeve! That’s the BEST trick I’ve learned for getting tops and jackets to look right on us shorties. Don’t just take the sleeve up at the wrist, take IN the width of the sleeve. It’s a game changer. The same is true of men’s suits. Men, even more so than women, seem to think that getting something to look “good” is about going up in price, but tell your boyfriend to get a less expensive suit and have it tailored. Please, as a service to me.

Wear the Spanx. You might not want to squeeze them over your ass in the morning, but when you see that mac and cheese at lunch (do it, you beautiful monster) you’ll be glad they’re there, doing the lord’s work.

Never, ever, even if she is on the brink of hypothermia, let your taller, blonder friend borrow your favorite pea coat. You look good in that coat. But she will look better. And you’ll never be able to unsee it. (This is not based on me, or a Topshop coat, or my friend Lea.)