Jumpsuits are the Diva Version of Overalls

Last Friday, I was getting ready to go out with my friend Lauren and I couldn’t settle on an outfit. My vintage Ralph Lauren denim shorts were problematic with the bloated stomach I was sporting from eating too much steamed kale – a punishment I had coming for stalking Kayla Itsine’s Instagram for too long – and I had worn my favorite shift dress the night before.

When I was sorting through the last suitcase I have yet to unpack from moving out of my off-campus house – if I unpack that suitcase then it makes it REAL – I found a jumpsuit I haven’t given enough love to since I bought it last summer. It was a win-win, the tie at the waist reminded me I still had one and the onesie linen blend situation was perfect for the 90-degree heat. I added brown sandal wedges, gold bracelets, and my watch. To really drive the point home that I was feelin’ myself, I threw on my new Colour Pop lip kit. I kid you not, I really looked like I had my shit together.

After ubering to a trendy bar on the water, Lauren and I decided to ball out and get a few appetizers. (I know, we’re so bad!) The hostess who sat us looked me up and down and said “I love your outfit!” and placed a menu in front of me. Compliments from strangers, especially strangers with a flawless contour, are always delightful, so I was flattered. This small social interaction only confirmed what we already knew: I was feelin’ myself.

Two gin and tonics, chowder fries, and a lobster quesadilla later, we decided to hop to another bar down the street. As we were leaving, a man who was dining on the outdoor patio took notice of our diva-like presence. And by that I mean a man who was dining on the outdoor patio saw us pass his table.

“You have a good night ladies,” said the man.

“Thanks,” I said, apparently not loud enough.

“Oh so you’re just gonna ignore me, huh?” he said, in a voice that was far louder than it need to be. “Next time I won’t be so nice, BIATCH!”

First of all, I had to google the correct spelling of “biatch” because I firmly believe I have not used this word since I stopped quoting Mean Girls on the daily. (It’s more like every other day now, but that’s besides the point.) Second of all, next time? NEXT TIME?

Lauren and I both laughed this little incident off because catcalling is and always has been fruitless and lame, but I was still annoyed. It is truly irksome when you are feeling like the living and breathing lyrics of Independent Women Part II and some random ass dude shows up to ruin the party and objectify you.

Instead of giving in, however, I simply touched up my ultra matte lips and ordered one more gin and tonic for good measure. We were having great, soul sister conversation and we were determined to continue the good vibes. Eventually the lights came on at the bar and we were told to move it along, so we left our cozy hightop and began to make our way out.

I had almost reached the door when I felt a light tap on my shoulder.

“Excuse me,” said a guy who looked like he could easily front a Fall Out Boy cover band. “Excuse me!”

I normally wouldn’t answer, but the crowd was causing a bottleneck effect at the door and I was stuck.

“Yes?” I said.

“My friend here was going to wear the same outfit as you,” he said, gesturing to the guy standing next to him. They also had a female friend, and all 3 of them were trying to conceal their laughter as if I had “Make America Great Again” written across my boobs.

“Well, that would have been very embarrassing for your friend because I clearly wore it better,” I said before rolling my eyes and barging my way out the door.

I know I shouldn’t have been bugged by this, but it bugged me. Fashion is all about expressing yourself, it is a visual representation of who you are. If you don’t like what I’m wearing, that’s fine, but I didn’t go out of my way to tell you that your red flannel and black snapback made you look like you just got fired from Journeys.

Our night wasn’t ruined by any means, but I totally resent the fact that 2 separate assholes made me pause to think about how I look and question whether or not I was feeling good about myself. When I put that jumpsuit on, I felt good, as any staple piece in your wardrobe should. I’m mad at myself for even letting two strangers make me feel that way.

Moral of the story: there is always going to be someone out there who feels entitled to tell you their opinion of the way you look. Keep doing you, keep letting it roll off your bralette-adorned back.

Not to be all “let your haters be your motivators,” but don’t wear anything for anyone other than yourself. I’m not going to stop wearing that jumpsuit, and I’m sure as hell not going to stop wearing that lip kit – mostly because it is very difficult to take off.

Next time you go out, put on something that makes you feel good, too. And if some stranger has something to say about it, ignore them. Or scream “STRANGER DANGER” and call the cops, that works, too. Do it up.

Post-Grad, Coffee, & Madonna

Madonna once said that “reinventing yourself is vital to your survival as an artist and a human being.” Now, Madonna and I may not always see eye to eye – mostly because I am mortal, she is Madonna, and I hate newsboy caps – but these words have been reverberating through my mind ever since I first read them in a shitty tabloid years ago.

Before I graduated, I thought I could beat the odds and launch into a fantasy post-grad life. I wanted a glamorous plan lined up – an internship in the city, a sudden desire to teach English abroad, a chance encounter with Prince Harry, perhaps. I thought by the time I graduated, I would have something about my future set in stone, but that didn’t quite happen.

Instead, I attended my graduation ceremony like everyone else, had a beautiful lunch with my family afterward, and promptly packed up my assortment of mason jars and moved back home.

I have changed my “glamorous” plans for the future a thousand times in the month that I have been home. I have fantasized about screenwriting, daydreamed about becoming a television host, and prayed for a job at my favorite magazine in New York.

Every day starts the same, I caffeinate myself until I’m shaking and apply for at least one position I am hopefully qualified for. I know it is silly to be discouraged mere weeks after I tossed my cap into the air, but I can’t help but feel my heart sink every time I refresh my inbox.

That sinking feeling struck me differently this morning, however. I felt like my heart hit the bottom of my chest and bounced straight back up, more motivated than ever. It was then that I had my mini epiphany: I need to reinvent myself.

In college, if someone you’re sick, you usually have to confirm that you are “actually sick,” otherwise everyone – including some of your snarkier professors – will assume you’re hungover. The weekend starts on Thursday, even though you probably go out on Tuesdays anyway. You can’t walk to class, the gym, or the library without seeing someone you know. College is a comfy and cozy bubble, and graduation is the big pin ready to pop it.

As many valuable lessons I learned in college, I am beginning to outgrow many of them. Sure, “beer before liquor, never been sicker” is a rule I will follow til the day they stop carding me, and, yes, I know that wearing a crop top with low-rise jeans is an absolute don’t. But my life no longer revolves around the weekend; this is the real world and I need to be a real person.

I know what you’re thinking, a real person? As opposed to the fake person you were before? But let me explain: college is meant to educate you, to provide you with lifelong friends, and maybe teach you how to live in a 13 by 10 with no air conditioning.

College isn’t going to teach  you everything, though.

By the time the eight semester draws to a close and you realize you’re about to become an actual adult, you’ll find that you only have about half the tools you need to figure it out. If college taught us everything we need to know about the real world, we would never grow beyond it.

While I feel that I have matured leaps and bounds, I know I am not the sophisticated, career woman Barbie my much younger self once thought I would be at the ripe old age of 22. I can write up a cover letter no problem and I have my handshake down to a science, but that doesn’t change the fact that the last two movies I saw in theaters were Zootopia and Finding Dory.

I think the best way to reinvent myself is to figure out what I have to offer the world. Right now, I feel that all I have to offer is my complete honesty, a MacBook, and a wildly unpopular opinion of the Kardashians. (They’re business women! I can’t knock their hustle!)

So, for now, I’ll be over here in the corner reinventing myself. You’re all welcome to come along for the ride. If all goes well, I’ll end up a #GirlBoss. Or with my own Vegas residency. It’s seriously anyone’s game at this point.

Ciao!

P.S. Do you guys think I can pull off “ciao”? Maybe I should stick with baiii for now.