Bonjour mankind, I’m back in New York even if but for 48 hours and ready to continue tackling existential concerns and great debates. Today in just that: another riveting round of Repeller or Propeller. I’m often asked if continuing to abide by the rules of man-repelling can still apply in a more formal capacity and to that I repeat my mantra, folks: if it’s look like a vagina, it’s probably couture. And when I say couture, I mean fancy business. Sorry, bizznass. So, yes. The answer is yes. But that’s not all: here we have something less about labial dressing, more about perhaps embracing the prospect of semi-repellingin a look that eloquently abominates the lower half of your body and leaves nothing to the imagination up above.
Ultimately, I’d dubbed this look a Repeller not necessarily based on the excess lace fabric that creates a high waist harem effect down below but more on the prospect that as aforementioned, nothing is left to the imagination: not an inkling of how you say, cleavage. My tatas really are that small. Unfortunately, I wasn’t offered the good graces to wear this jumpsuit sans lining and so no bare-ass celebrating a la Leighton was had. I did, however, have a massively hard time using the bathroom and while you may not see it here, the camel-toe sequel song opportunities brought forth by my nether regions were great, huge even. What do you say though: repeller? Propeller? Neither? Tell me, I have to know…and should you feel so inclined, send in a photo of yourself fighting a similar debacle. The psycos that repel together, stay together.