Dispirited Dispatch From The Style Wars
I avow I had entertained hopes that my return to New York might afford some amelioration of the dismal fashion conditions prevailing in London this season. Foolish, foolish me.
An expedition to Old Navy yesterday yielded a possibly-unprecedented-in-history nothing to buy, not even a pair of passably cute $10 flipflops. After flailing with mounting panic through a froth of flouncy skirts like wedding cakes, only to reach the Flaccid-Dugged Tunics Department, I packed it in and fled whimpering. I fear I must resign myself to wearing all last summer's clothes over again, and doing laundry rather more often than is my wont.
In a related note, a disturbing reality has been obtruding itself on my consciousness over the past week, and only today was I able to put fully articulated form to this nameless dread: there is a pigtail craze on. Grown women are running around with their hair in moronic little tufts sprouting either side of their heads! Some even go so far as to braid them, which expedient combines with their wedding-cake skirts to create a quasi-Heidi effect of which they must surely be unconscious. Otherwise they wouldn't be wearing them, right?