You shallow, rich, disgusting east coasters have finally gotten to me. I swore to myself I would never pick up a hint of your nails on chalkboard accent. I assumed I would never lose my genuine sympathy for others (a normal phenomenon in all other parts of the country), and most of all I promised to myself that I would never succumb to the subpar, showy, ubiquitous, over-rated, ‘chic’, Jappy, over-priced, snobby, and just plain obnoxious fashion trends of the east coast.. Wrong.
Before I came to Cornell, I had never worn a pair of leggings. And if I had worn them, I wouldn’t have done so without a decent shirt to cover up by voluptuous buttocks cheeks. People don’t do that in that real life let alone in Chicago. But, my quality derriere is quite dear to me and I just relish any opportunity to put it on full display. Jeans and dresses just can’t do that the way a nice pair of black spandex and cotton can. Indeed, I am now a ra-ra enthusiastic proponent of the legging. I also have come to love my rubber Hunter boots, my cushy (sorry sheep) uggs and my shiny iphone. (At least I don’t have a blackberry – I’m not that dumb).
But, the two things that I promised myself to abstain from have finally taken the last remnants of my east coast snob virginity: The longchamp bag and the Sperry.
I really don’t like ‘boat shoes’, hell I don’t like boat culture. Oh, and yes, people do boat in Illinois, there’s a big fucking lake with waves and everything, but people there don’t feel the need to wear ugly shoes with big nasty topstitching designed specifically for use on your daddy’s yacht.
So why did I get them?
Well, a couple weeks ago it was raining a lot, but it was also hotter than hell in a handbasket. I needed a shoe that would be okeydokey in the rain and that wasn’t a big fat boot that would make my precious toesies sweat. So I got these:
These aren’t as bad, but I still feel the tinsiest bit of heavy guilt wearing them. I can almost hear them squeaking ‘sellout!!’ with each waterlogged step.
My longchamp bag is quite a different story altogether. A story of true love if you will. I did quite a bit of hunting because I did not want a 160 dollar nylon sac that EVERYONE has. In Illinois people carry around varied purses from many different labels. Shocking right? But I needed a new bag that could tote around all of my shit. So I did quite a bit of hunting and had my eye on this bag for quite some time:
I really really love this. He’s really quite the bad boy in town. Sexy, rich, and great in the sac (Hah!). But I thought about for a while and I realized that this giy might actually be a longchamp knockoff masked by a Marc Jacobs label.. Just a poser! A poser that’s twice as much! So eventually I gave into my pride and decided to give the boy next door longchamp a shot. And I adore it! The bag looks small on my arm, yet is surprisingly rooms, the straps are long but not cumbersome, and the material is durable, yet looks cute. Believe me, I cherish this bag more than the items inside. I understand this is rather perverse, but hey I have said this many times and will say it again. I’m a pervert. But I understand completely that my love of le longchamp (pronounched longshamp people, not CHAMP) makes me a sheep slut. A whore to following local conventions. A yachting, toting, ugsing, wannabe poser prep. But don’t worry midwesterners some things will NEVER change: That gawd awful tawk will never stop hurting my ears, I will always slow down when a pedestrian is walking in front of my automotive vehicle. Periods of silence less than five seconds will never make me blurt out the next insignificant thought in my head to ease the ‘tension’, and last but not least I will never think I am superior to those around me… *adjusts collar* 😉 Love you!