"The Ambiguous White Sneaker"

Nothing--and I truly mean nothing--is quite like the disappointment when seeing an otherwise attractive male wearing horrific footwear. Call me a terrible person, but I simply cannot tolerate running shoes (i.e. Asics Gel Kayano or similar silhouette) worn with jeans. Yes, that Gel Kayano may be one of the top selling, top performing trail and distance running shoes for the past 5 to 10 years, but its performance off the road? Incredibly awkward and emasculating actually. That huge shoe is, minute by minute, draining out all of your swag from every pore. I automatically deduct 3 attractiveness points on the 1-10 scale if I spot this beastly sneaker/jean combination on a potential candidate. More points are deducted if the sneaker is beaten to a meshy pulp. The meshy pulp- thus, therefore, furthermore, etc. etc. is a symbolic representation ... OF??? Your manhood. Ouch.

Why the harshness, you ask?
A trouser leg simply cannot fall on a sneakered foot without looking:
a) too short
b) too long and bunchy, giving a faux "2003 thug" look. Faux because you have a freaking running sneaker on and you're not running, hiking, or exerting yourself in anyway other than drinking a Heinekin.
or
c) cheaply constructed (something I like to call the "Wrangler" visage...)

All of these are in violation of pleasurable aesthetics and proportion. In other words one simply cannot spit adequate game when looking like he has outgrown his jeans, is wearing another taller man's jeans, or (worst of all!) is wearing his father's lawn-mowing jeans from the early 1990s.

Now let me take this one step further. If the sneaker in question is that of the ambiguous white variety (think KSWISS, white New Balance...) then all visual hell breaks loose on the poor misguided wearer.

By selecting a large, lumbering white athletic shoe, the rest of any paired outfit becomes completely and utterly irrelevant. At this point you should probably just put on some medium wash, relaxed fit denim and add 30 years to your age.

On the terrors of "relaxed fit" denim...

I cannot even articulate the level of despair I feel upon viewing a new case of "phantom diaper syndrome." Many a young thang has desecrated his svelte figure by poor choice in the denim department.

This ailment, though present in some extremely careless women, is particularly lethal and widespread in the male population, ages 17-30.

So what exactly are the causes of said syndrome?
"RELAXED FIT" denim!!! And if the denim is medium wash??? Immediate (social) denigration.

I caution: Do not be fooled by the euphemistic nature of hangtags reading "relaxed fit" on men's jeans. A relaxed cut to denim essentially condemns the wearer to a visibly lower and flatter backside. My calculations find 2 inches to be the magic "sag factor" associated with an offending vs non-offending pair of jeans. Sag factor is calculated through a highly complex mathematical equation involving ratio of perceived BOC (bottom of cheek) to perceived backward extension in 3-D space.

I have found that when the sag factor for a particular denim-clad male broaches the 2 inch barrier, surrounding females experience a physical force (akin to the resistance demonstrated when placing like poles of two magnets together) which propels them away from the offending phantom diaper. Essentially, if the downward sag of one's denim is greater than the perceived outward extension of one's backside, to the 2nd degree, the forces of nature intervene to protect innocent passerby. Contact with phantom diaper is both unsettling and unsafe, especially for those of frailer constitution.

So why do I write about denim, specifically? The innate weight of denim as a fabric itself tends to aggravate the gravitational pull associated with a more generous trouser cut. While relaxed fit khakis can look tolerable--if not tired and dated--relaxed fit denim is far more weighty and far more dangerous.

Tread with caution, my precious blog readers.

"Rocking the Sternum"

Be it a snaggle tooth, apple bottom, or rogue hammer toe, we all have at least one physical flaw that keeps us from being the "perfect" specimen. [Yes, even Megan Fox has a crazy clubbed thumb, courtesy of a condition called brachydactyly.] And thanks to the repetitive subject material for popular rap songs, most of us get to frequently drop it to beats about our own disproportionate backsides.

Get yo fine self on the flo', dis yo soul!
...Shake ya ass, watch yourself.

Couldn't have said it better myself, Mystikal. [If, in fact, this is actually what you were trying to articulate in that song. One can never be certain with you.] Regardless, some ten years later and I still can't get your spastic attempts at rapping out of my head.

Anyway, while I--and I'm assuming most of you-- have escaped the perils of clubbed appendages and chronic bursts of verbal garble, genetics do seem to encode a little bit of irony into each little bundle of joy.

Take, for example, the undeniable fact that there are fifth graders walking this earth with larger chests than you, a full grown 22 year old female. And by you I mean me. Dammit. There's something rather cruel about a world in which walking past an elementary school can inspire cleavage envy. Whatever. At least I --and my small chest-- am able to cross the street on my own.

This being said, there is a little something I like to call "rocking the sternum" that has finally helped me to embrace my own lack of cleavage. While all around thinness may be in now, remember back to your middle school days. (A period I now refer to as THE DARK YEARS.) That gangly creature in the jazz band uniform? Not so cute back then. Thankfully, with age comes grace. And by grace I mean not grace at all, but money to buy strategic and expensive clothing to trick others into thinking that your awkward limbs and flat chest are "edgy."

Rocking the sternum, like a fine cheese or a small child, must be treated with the proper tools. No one should leave an expensive cheese unattended. Likewise, but to a lesser degree, with the small child.

Some quick information on "Rocking the Sternum"

1) Let's hope you know this, but the sternum is your breast bone. This is visible on those without large chests.

2) V-necks specifically are friends of sternum rocking. The "v" shape displays the full faculties of a high class sternum.

3) Be sure to take care of your sternum skin, ladies! No crepey business --or biznasty I should say. Sunscreen, sunscreen, sunscreen, or you're quickly following in the footsteps of those old potato ladies you see on the beach. You know what I'm talking about.

4) Without a large chest, apparel choices that could teeter on the edge of trashy suddenly become chic. Low cut shirts? No problem. After all, what is there to show but that fabulous sternum! Short dresses/skirts/shorts? Leg is allowed when nothing is spilling out on top.

5) Whenever using the phrase "Rocking the Sternum," one must accompany this with a chest shimmy. You are, after all, a brave pioneer, and must behave as such. (This probably should have been first on the list, being as it is obviously crucial.)

6) Enjoy the ability to sleep on your stomach after partying for hours with your sternum. Your bosom-y friends are stuck with fewer options for sleeping positions. HAHA, suckers.


A certain sibling of mine texts, "I think you should write about people who wear tube tops and then a bra with clear plastic straps that cut into their flesh."

I shudder, gather my strength, and begin preparing for my next entry.

Ribbed Sweater Fabrics: Just Say No.

But she looks so confident!, you argue as you flip and/or click toward the order page.

Listen to me carefully.
Drop that [insert middle tier retailer] catalog/ad immediately, and try to envision the following hypothetical situation:

It's a brisk autumn day, and you're trying to figure out what to wear to the office. You check the clock- woops! Need to be out the door in ten minutes. You quickly grab that ribbed turtleneck sweater you bought the other week, a pair of slim cut trousers, and a hot pocket (just kidding, you actually grab a special K bar-- you've fallen prey to the atrocity that is Kellog's Special K's "diet" plan and ONLY consume miniature Special K products all day, much to their corporate marketing team's delight. But I digress...)

As you drive to work, you have one hand on the wheel, with the other feeding yourself your breakfast. Arriving at the office, you note a feeling of inbalance. Why so suddenly and inexplicably uncomfortable? You, despite my warnings, have worn a garment made of ribbed sweater fabric!!!

As you were consuming your "hearty" 90 calorie breakfast, your feeding arm was bending at a significantly faster rate than your steering arm. Even upon arriving at the office, the elbow of your sweater on the feeding side has stretched out to massive proportions. Coworkers pass, staring at the large fabric bulge protruding from your now straightened right arm. Is she carrying a ham in there? A small child?? they secretly wonder.

Now, in order to make it through the day, you--the unfortunate ribbed sweater wearer-- has two options to negotiate the situation:

1) Roll or bunch up the sleeves of the sweater, in an attempt for a "casual" J.Crew-esque work look. (Unfortunately, this move is more believable with blazers, non-ribbed cardigan sweaters, etc. Most perceptive coworkers will still know something is amiss. Plus, bunchy ribbed-sweater fabric is most uncomfortable to lean upon, so your elbows may sustain some level of rug burn and/or deep ribbed skin impressions.)

2) Keep your elbows at a 90 degree angle all day. The bent elbows will mask the sweater bulge
(though the bulge, upon heading home, will now be of biblical proportions).
Those who spend most of the work day typing at a computer may in fact be able to achieve this sort of marathon arm-bend without the notice of others. Most likely, however, you risk appearing decidedly like a T. Rex, with your bent arms looking feeble, impractical, and unable to support the demands of your lumbering sweatered body.


Now back to that sweater you were insisting on purchasing?

Thought so.
And the next time you feel yourself weakening at the sight of a misleading sweater ad, just remember this:
Fabric bulges, almost 100% of the time, are an aesthetically narsty situation for all parties involved: wearer, coworker, and unsuspecting observer alike.

P.S. I have consciously refrained from spiraling into a rant about that THING around the woman's waist in this particular advertisement, or about the fact that she has an upper hip grazing ribbed turtleneck sweater paired with leggings. There are certain faux pas that are too obvious to even spend time blogging about.

The "Strategic Midriff"

To clarify, I am not writing this just because the crop top is back in.

I have, in fact, been practicing what I call the "strategic midriff" since junior year of high school and am of the belief that midriff-baring gets an undeservedly bad rep. There is a difference, however, between obnoxiously and/or awkwardly showing one's stomach and doing so in an acceptable manner.

The "Strategic Midriff" is achieved by heeding the following precautions:

1) No belly button piercings. Woof. I don't think I need to really go in any more depth with this.

2) The length of exposed stomach should not exceed the span of one's fingers in a relaxed position, from thumb to pinky. (I purposely make this measurement possible without aid of a ruler, so there are no excuses! Unless you are missing a phalange... in which case I am most sorry for your misfortune but you must use the closest adult human's finger span as substitute.)

3) There are essentially only three acceptable silhouettes for the shirt component of this look:
a) bandeau. (No low rise bottoms! This would take you out of strategic midriff and into dubious waters. Only the carriage should be showing, not the lower stomach or belly button.)
b) loose fit crop top (A friend of us who are less than gifted in the chest region.)
c) Shorter casual tee (In this case, only an inch or two of skin, otherwise one may appear like an overgrown baby. Historically, not a good look.)

4. Avoid "that which should not be named" (muffin top!-- but don't make me say it again). Proper sized waistbands make for proper social lives. Now that's a rule we can all live by.

Depending on mood I may cover the "terrors of relaxed fit denim" or "just say no to ribbed sweater fabric" next time. You should probably hold your breath in anticipation.

Meditations on the "kitten heel"

I've spent all day feeling uncomfortable about the combination of metallic accents that I'm wearing. In an effort to ignore this ridiculous state of mind, I've reverted to a question I frequently find myself asking: why does the "kitten heel" exist???

[Note: I define a kitten heel to be any thinner or tapered heel below 1.5".]

Those who know me well probably have heard me talk about heel commitment. I believe one must commit to the heel or commit to the flat ground. None of this wishywashy kitten business. I am one of those fortunate people with a high tolerance for foot pain, so I frequently choose to spend my nights teetering around on four or more inches of shoe. I realize this does not appeal to many perfectly respectable and fashionable females, yet I beg to these anti-platform souls: please commit to the flat!

A good friend of mine emails, "The kitten heel is just such a useless thing because it provides none of the leg elongation of the high heel nor any of the comfort of the flat. Abomination!"

Glad to see I have support in this!

1) Offense at the function level. The kitten heel gets caught in all sorts of crevasses, resulting in wobbly ankle syndrome. This syndrome, while present in normal heel wearing, is exaggerated in the kitten heel wearer due to the angle of the foot and weight distribution over the measly heel. While I can forgive an ankle wobble here or there during normal heel wearing, wobbling on kitten heels is, in my opinion, a rather tragic and unnecessary experience for the female.

2) Offense at the aesthetic level. Heels (specifically stilettos, the name for which is derived from the Italian word for "dagger") were originally engineered to lengthen the leg and emphasize the stature of the wearer. The higher the heel, the smaller the length of the foot looks in relation. Small feet are less offensive than larger feet, generally, except when in members of the male sex.

When wearing a flat shoe, the wearer accepts the length of the foot as natural. The wearer walks with the full length of the foot displayed. This is all good.
When wearing a heeled shoe, the toes of the wearer point downward, and the ankle is angled in such a way as to conjure an image of passion. (I'll leave the rest unstated. This has been discussed in numerous theoretical works on the heeled shoe- I kid you not.)

When wearing a kitten heel, however, the smallness of heel in relation to the length of the foot is a jarring and absurd image. Moreover, if pants are involved in the mess, the pant legs simply hover a little over the ground. Is there a heel there? Are the pants too short?? How dreadful a sight!

I could continue on, but I'm elevating my blood pressure. I'll recommence soon with lessons on what I like to call the "strategic midriff" ...

I admit it, I'm superficial.

There are some of us recent college graduates with admirable personal tendencies. (See: future political activists, future doctors, future teachers, etc...) In contrast, I was not born with a knack for promoting social causes. Instead, genetics and environment combined to produce a rather superficial, yet keen eye for detecting proportion and disproportion in clothing as it is worn on the body. How useful!

I learned this past year thanks to absurd laboratory experiments that I possess the unusual ability to distinguish between minute height differences in rectangles. When coupled with multiple drawing professor's observations that I have a great desire for symmetry in the representation of the "nude and clothed human form," and my history of fascination with clothes and proportion, I reached an epiphany: I am programmed to be an obsessive analyzer of surfaces.

This is not a blog about me, however, and I most certainly do not claim to be an authority. It is simply a series of opinions that stem from my very subjective, very specific perception of surrounding forms. So often I have been asked why I have such strong aversions to certain styles, outfits, and textiles, that I've finally attempted here to provide explanations of the way my slightly crazed mind processes surfaces and articles of attire.