If you're a regular reader, you may know me from such incidents as this drunk dancing gif or the great leather jacket thrift of 2013. Whether you're judging from these or from first-hand knowledge, you may also know that I have absolutely no business writing an entry in a fashion blog. My wardrobe -- sparse by Meg or Melina's standards -- is almost evenly divided between plaid shirts and shapeless black frocks, and approximately 98% of my favorite clothing items can be classified as "loungewear." Right now, for example, I am wearing a red and black striped sweatshirt and a pair of Meg's pajama shorts, which are flannel with ruffles and feature graphics of Vespas, postage stamps, and the Eiffel Tower. They also say "bonjour," "Paris!", and, inexplicably, "follow your heart!" in pink and black script all over them.
I do not give one fuck.
Anyway, as I luxuriate in my resplendent ensemble, growing out a haircut that makes me look like Divine masquerading as the proprietor of a womyn's spiritual healing tent at Lilith Fair, I must yet again remind myself: this isn't about me. This is about Meg -- whose topknot is always on point, whose eyebrows are always immaculate, who looks great even now as she gazes at me over Monasteries of Western Europe with that gleam in her eye that says, "I'm contemplating murder-suicide."
So, let's talk about what Meg wore to trot around campus when my parents visited last weekend.
Here, Meg is wearing a shirt. It is my shirt, and it is pink. I like this shirt because it is soft, does not fit too close to my skin, and makes me feel vaguely like a young carefree schoolboy at an expensive New England preparatory academy instead of a surly gayelle in a button-down. Meg likes this shirt because she can wear it with these Keds:
"Are there CHAIRS on those Keds??" - you.
Damn right there are chairs on these Keds, son. Do you know who you're talking to? These were a recent purchase of Meg's, gleefully made on the Internet, which is a place where dreams come true.
Looking jaunty in a cathedral/library
It's like Dead Poets' Society up in this shit
In conclusion, PLOT TWIST: Here is a picture of baby Meg, sporting some black, shapeless loungewear. THOSE IN GLASS HOUSES...
Shirt: Land's End Canvas, via my closet
Jeans: J Brand
Shoes: Keds (on sale here now!)
Lipstick: MAC "silly"