women dress alike all over the world – they dress to be annoying to other women (elsa schiaparelli)
so-quoted a friend the book recently, the words for whatever reason sounding resonance. humor. perhaps appreciation for the simplistic explanations of a woman, her dress.
whether or not she’s right we’ll leave to you to debate. confabulate. while its never in fact been a personal style motivator, annoying les autres seems just an unfortunate (unnecessary) side effect of our greater attempts. but that’s just us. we like to keep our steez wavering on the delicate line between sex and class (trust: the two are not mutually exclusive, despite what yo mama told you). and when in doubt we (of course) default to the former. it’s more fun over there anyway.
and yet (slooty style predilections aside) we seem to be scoring a rather healthy tally when measuring our wardrobe against our latest blogette fave: the man repeller.
the man repeller blogs what we already know: that often our men have no fucking clue why we’re wearing what we’re wearing. they know it must be now, assume they’d see similar if they cracked a mag, and yet they still don’t get it. sometimes they even hate it. we’ve experienced unforgettable looks (curiosity, bewilderment, confusion) from ours at the sight of: anything drop-crotch, oversized shoulders and our silk crop-top cape. funny beasts, aren’t they?
how about you? yes of course you dress for yourself (who doesn’t) but where do you land on the spectrum? do you mind what your man finds fugly? repellent? or do you rock out your hammer pants, your top-knots, your jumpsuits regardless? does fashion trump your sex appeal?