I admit, I can be an old fuddy-duddy about some things–just ask my spouse* and daughter. Consider this diatribe an addition to my wildly popular “Pet Peeve” Series from awhile back.
Yesterday I volunteered at the Humane Association table at the mall. It was packed due to the rainy weather and the hoopla for Carousel’s Twenty First Birthday celebration–imagine the festivities if they ever finish the mall. There were free carousel rides, cupcakes, and face painting, which drew a lot of families with small children.
A 2011 Lane Bryant ad.
As I left that afternoon, I walked past Lane Bryant, a pillar of stylish, dignified clothing for plus-size women. A giant mural in the window caught my attention: a row of five or six women wearing jeans on the bottom, hair blowing around their faces ala Glamour Photo, and nothing on top save their arms wrapped over their “girls”, the term that has become fashionable for ”breasts”. Go take a gander when you get a chance.
It’s bad enough to have to endure Victoria’s Secret and Hollister displays. Over the past few years, I’ve fought off the urge to pull down the pants of the chalk-white Hollister mannequin because they were just shy of showing the guy’s come si chiame. (whatchamacallit for non-Italians). Let it all hang out, I say.
Sex sells. Our culture buys into it. I don’t think Michelangelo had this in mind when he sketched the human body so beautifully. Listed below are some of the spectacles of which I’ve had just about enough. Thank you for sharing your private parts with everyone, but please stop, I beg of you.
1. Large tattoos (“tramp stamp”) just above the butt that can be seen in their entirety when the person bends, squats or reaches while wearing low-cut pants .
2. Thong underwear (“butt floss”) showing above your low-cut pants wherever you are–checkout line, church social, job interview–why not just leave them off? What’s the point? Ohhhhh, it’s supposed to show!
3. Cleavage and thongage showing in inappropriate settings such as student teaching or leading the choir (okay, I made the second one up but the first one is true. No wonder Johnny can’t read!)
Serge complains that I never look sexy. High season for sniping at me about one-inch thick flannel jammies is approaching–I don’t care. As I approach my Golden Years, my goal is to be clean and neat (AND warm!) I’ll leave “sexy” to the next generation and hope for a return to madras jumpers and white button-down oxford shirts. It’s possible.
Do you have a “pet peeve” on fashion? Am I hopelessly old-fashioned? Should I personally complain about little children seeing the Lane Bryant sluts in the window?