Moments in (non)Celebrity
I went to Nana yesterday, in my search for a new outfit for this weekend that refuses to reveal itself, and ended up just buying a simple top for nothing in particular. I gave my card to the lady at the cash register, who looked at it and said, "Are you the same Heather who writes for DCist?" I kind of laughed and said yes, and she said, "Oh, I see your name on there like eighteen, twenty times a day!"
The exaggeration was sweet, and the recognition at all kind of heartwarming, but here's the thing: We had this conversation verbatim when I was in there two weeks ago. Clearly I am not in any way memorable in person, ha.
Another, unrelated thing I said to her when I handed her the top, "Maybe when the fashion industry remembers that some of us still have hips, I'll be able to start buying clothes again." Seriously, people, I am sick to death of all this pregnancy wear. You know why? Because IT MAKES YOU LOOK PREGNANT. Even PREGNANT women don't want to look pregnant, for christ's sake. Unless you're the skinniest girl this side of a roadsign pole, you are going to look shapeless and fat. You know what this is? Skinny, hipless hipster girls trying to keep us out of the club. Fine! I'll shop at the Gap! I'll dive into the sea of khaki just because they make pants that don't make me look ten sizes bigger than I actually am. And if I have to drink a Starbucks latte and check my email on my Blackberry while doing it, maybe I will. But I will be wearing a great fucking pair of pants and, thus, be able to continue to sweet talk my way into the Black Cat because even though I may not have chicken legs to wrap in striped leggings and a universe of indie fashion designers making shapeless empire waisted dresses for me, you know what I do have? A great ass. Suck it, pole girls.