Forever 21 Kaftan // Dodo le Parisienne ballet flats // Salvatore Ferragamo sunglasses
As I was walking my dog this morning around the corner of the financial district and FML pedestrians, I noticed that many of the woman who passerby-ed were so poorly dressed for both the summer weather and their offices. So many peasant tops! Like, those aren’t even back in style; so to the underground hallway retailers selling this shit: please stop. To the women wearing this shit: ibid.
My issue with the pedestrian dress code is twofold: fit and pairing. Women in tops that are too tight, waistlines that cut at the wrong place; bad shoes no pedi. Sometimes when I’m walking around with my boyfriend I’ll just punch him in the arm when I see an offender: “Bad Shoes No Punch Backs!” (This is a play on the fun game of punch buggy but much more rewarding).
Fit is uber important. So is pairing. Why, I ask you, would you pair a floral print with a jungle-theme bag and then like powder blue slacks? Unless it’s fashion week and your last name is dello Russo my guess is that your assemblage was unintentional. And the drawstring pants balanced on the precipice of your bellybutton boasting last night’s carb fest are just no. What happened to the Pantone colour-wheel? What happened to navy blues and cream? Why is my city making my eyes bleed so early in the morning?
In the words of Andre Leon Talley: “There is a famine of beauty out there”
And cot damn am I hungry.
Instead of telling people to work flex hours to avoid traffic jams during Pan Am, the billboards should have also read: Dress Correct (so as to avoid ruining our international reputation of having somewhat of a marginal style and only on Queen West between Spadina and Ossington).
