Groovy, Daddy-O

In CategoryNavel Gazing

I’ve been watching Project Runway this season, because I hate reality television and all. Plus, Real Housewives of New Jersey is only on once a week, and I need to fill in the gaps. Out of the whole crowd of designers, the one I am rooting for is Peach. She’s the oldest at 50. But she’s the one I relate to the most. I feel like this reveals something about me. 

I’m pretty sure it’s not revealing that I have some secret fashion intuition, because I thought her first dress was cute and the judges thought it was “matronly”. I thought the winning outfit was hideous and reminded me of those awful Charlie’s Angels jumpsuits. The judges thought it was “edgy and fashion forward.” So probably I’m not a heretofore undiscovered brilliant stylist or something. 


Project Runway, with its young, cool, edgy creative people is whispering something else that’s entirely unpleasant in my ear. And that is that I am not young and hip anymore.

Perhaps I was never hip, but I know I was young once. Sometimes I think I should venture beyond the Birkenstocks, jeans and $2 white t-shirts that comprise my daily outfit, but really – what’s the point? Anytime I wear something Not Crappy, I either spill something on it or a tiny person does it for me.

Maybe I should go buy some kicky new boots to cheer myself up. Or is it hot? Cool? Phat? Sick? Ill? Stylin?

Whatever. The main thing is I need to quit trippin’ and get some bangin’ boots up in this here crib.