So great are the moments I have attempted to enlist the unwitting help of Solange Knowles in getting dressed, but so scarce have the successful executions been. Blame it on my hair, which is frizzy when un-ironed but not quite cool. Somehow, my preferred method of breast covering — a white t-shirt or striped blouse just looks better when paired with a thick of ring of secrets — and no doubt cool ones — that encircle the human head.
And then, of course, there’s the juncture at which prints meet and ineluctably mate.
Pants are optional, prints are not.
In my thinking I had a decent sense of precisely which plaids should be paired with florals, which versions of animal prints deserve glitter counterparts and so forth, I have done okay, but not nearly well enough by the standard of one bartender who has gone so far as to implicate sunglasses that are geometric and blindingly colorful, next to, say, gingham shoes.
And your nails — asking if you prefer them short or long, round or square is like suggesting you prefer your squash in the form of spaghetti or butternut because between the options, there are the manipulative procedures that completely transform one or the other. One makes spaghetti, the other makes soup and with your nails — while this comparison is slowly revealing itself as indubitably nonsensical, I’m just going to go ahead and say: they should be trained to work — and look — like claws. Claws that will protect you from the critics who will scorn: you show too much, you show too little, you show a little bit of everything and a chunk of nothing, too.
And you, yellow in the face, will say, “Flake off, Toby.”
And that — that color. Yellow, which has heretofore meant nothing but jaundice to me. And that Coldplay song, too. And, I guess, the sun. And corn. And this one painting in my grandparents’ Florida home, which is supposed to depict the life and times of a bottle cap.
Now, though, yellow is the color of passion. And of air conditioning. Of that flicker you can make out in your reflection when you know you’ve accomplished an outfit that moments earlier, you set out to achieve. You might not have a tail or gratuitous chiffon plackets, but you have a dream.
And when you get married, if you get married…
When you propose to yourself in order to fulfill the dress code requirement, you will wear a cape.
(And also, Jenna Lyons was there.)