I’ve been meaning to construct a sort of thematic repelling, lesson in formal wear because it’s hard to figure fancy wears and fashion together. When I say that, I mean man repelling. The Met Gala is one of the few events that successfully marry high fashion and formal wear in a capacity that procures a. McQueen cakeboss, b. human Oscars (see: Karolina Kurkova,) c. live gorillas as interactive Prada. Sorry, I’m still not over that joke. Some of us, however, aren’t swanky enough–by the laws of Met invitations, at least–to offer A-list designers the good deed of designing whatever our bodies desire and so here you’ll find an attempt to combine your man-repelling flair and the restrictive laws of a black tie dress code brought to you by my cousin’s wedding this past weekend. It’s makeshift, so do try it at home.
This is really magic you see, because of the juxtaposition of garbage can and self. It’s telling and metaphoric at its core but I’ll let you amount for why, see: Zoolander. Hash tag derelicte. Now: step away from the traditional dress and instead try a skirt. This one is Emanuel Ungaro from before Lindsay Lohan was even born. Behind the black vagina lives a plain white crisp tank, this one by LNA. It’s a pretty good blend of silk and cotton and thus fits the t-shirt model while maintaining a small air of elegance. Neck jewels are up to you: I stole my mom’s pearls and was role-playing dream daughter but before I could leave a smile on her face, top half abomination, enter this Junya Watanabe satin motorcycle jacket adorned by obligatory labial folds on either side. White
pube shoes to catch the tee and here you have it. I will have you know, friends, that when the bride first saw me, her initial remark was: “what the heck? I don’t like it.”
Hash tag funny but also very awkward. Oh, and, photo by Handsome Haim.