Muumuu Summer


 This morning, I got an email from J. Crew Factory, the headline of which was, "When you just CAN'T with pants..." 

To which I replied, "Honestly, where the hell have you been, J. Crew?" Are any of us still wearing "real" pants at this point in the pandemic?

Here's the deal. When my dad was going through his cancer treatment, he used to say that, sometimes, life is an absolute shit sandwich but that the bread is really, really delicious, so you should try to look for the bread in life. 

The pandemic has been really devastating for a lot of us, but I have tried to look at it the way my dad would have.

The coronavirus? Shit. The pain and suffering of millions of people? Shit. Death? Shit. Learning just how many of your friends and loved ones don't give nearly as many fucks about their fellow humans as you once thought they did? Double shit.

But my divorce from waistbands? That, my loves, is a brioche bread that was lovingly kneaded by the hands of angels who all look like Henry Cavill. Delicious.

Last fall, I came to the conclusion that life is hard enough without subjecting yourself to electives that make you uncomfortable. By this I mean that you don't NEED to remain Facebook friends with that weird uncle that you only see at funerals who thinks that Dominos is the facilitator of a trafficking ring with Beyonce at the helm. You know, the guy who insults you in your comment section and calls you an idiot? 

You don't NEED to talk to him.

Just like you don't NEED to burn a whole Saturday going to brunch with people you don't really like just because they're in town.

And you don't NEED to wear real pants.


In fact, I'm lumping stiff waistbands in the same category with that weird uncle, my ex boyfriend who proposed to me by saying, "I think college makes girls slutty and if you're engaged you won't be," and Chris Pratt. They're all in my mental breakup box.

This summer, I have decided that if it's not comfy, I don't want it. Caftans. Dresses. Joggers. Shorts with an elastic waist. Everything with an elastic waist. Rompers. Jumpsuits. 

Did you picture me saying those words like you called into a sartorial phone sex line and I'm just whispering filthy, sweet nothings in your ear about how you don't have to feel bad about yourself OR be uncomfortable this summer? Because that's exactly what I'm doing, baby. Oh yea, you dirty, dirty minx. Muumuu.

The upside is there's no downside, I mean, other than the fact that peeing when wearing a romper requires you to get naked like a toddler. But, I guess it really just depends on how you feel about being naked in a Target bathroom. Maybe there is no downside after all. 

In any case, consider this your permission to divorce the things that make you uncomfortable, that make you feel bad about yourself, that make you an asshole when you talk to yourself. Because in addition to life being hard enough already, life is too short to be mean to yourself. You don't deserve that.

Wear your muumuus, your caftans, your house dresses, your rompers, your joggers, your elastic, your cozy. And fuck anyone who tells you that you shouldn't. They can go hang out with the in the Breakup Box, too.

Comments

  1. Lord yes!!!!! And, how much am I loving my grey hair? So much! I think we are emerging from this pandemic like the Wise Women of some mythical otherworld. Muumuus and grey hair. And yes, you can certainly call me "Ma'am." xoxo

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