Fashion – Page 39 – I Don't Get It

How Not To Lasso A Filly

More proof that the 1970s were so so so odd.

Is it wrong that what I find most disturbing in this yearbook picture is her lack of a belt? It would really pull the look together, and break up two pale colors. Even just a simple brown weave belt could have changed everything.

In any event, I think the punishment is too harsh. And talk about a chafing rope burn…What is wrong with these people?

If Crispin Glover Were A Hungry, Angry Shemale

Welcome to Vogue Sep 2013, 902 pages of over-the-top, aesthetically displeasing ads that I DO NOT GET. I still regret paying $1 for it. All I wanted was some perfume samples.

Look, I liked Vogue as a youth. I enjoyed models and high fashion and keeping up with the trends, perusing through the modern and artsy pages. Perhaps they were even inspiring at one point. But now? Now I cannot get past these ads. Vile.

Spare me any comments about how high-concept or fashion-forward Vogue is; you’ll only sound pretentious or as tired as Madonna’s antiquated song. Ads don’t happen by accident; I’m 100% certain this contrived androgynous look was exactly what they were going for.

All I know is, somebody, please FEED HER. (Not Jennifer Lawrence, but the topless one). And make sure she keeps it down, if you know what I mean. And while you’re at it, throw a shirt on her and trot her to the closest neurologist to see if those dopamine receptors are down, because this one’s smile is broken.

Ralph Rucci, this makes me feel uncomfortable, and discomfort does not buy your product. In fact, it makes me want to ralph into a toilet bowl (where you should put your flowy too-long skirt, fur muff, belt, gloves and bad eye shadow). And take that hairdon’t back to Moe from the Three Stooges. But props to you for getting celebs to buy your clothes! Rich folk love them some runways. Cha-ching!

And I apologize to Crispin Glover, who is actually much easier on the eyes (yet arguably as eccentric) than the aforementioned shemale.

Body Language

I’ll Pass On The Bowl Of Red

not even with onions, cheese, and Saltine crackers

Mad For Plaid

Homely Flappers Were A Drag

Blowing In The Wind

In case you didn’t know, the Denton High School marching band is awesome. Their jersey shirts tell you so.

Hard work, perseverance, and dedication will take this band all the way to state. It doesn’t hurt that Alan can really blow.

Jill and Dana are just happy to have an excuse to skip family Uno night each Friday. Jill gets her rebellion on by donning the purple eye shadow that Mom says makes her look like a Runaround Sue, and Dana has splashed her entire being with Jean Nate in an effort to entice Alan. And after the game, it’s endless Capri Suns and Fritos with bean dip!

If Alan is oblivious as usual, maybe she can spark some interest from Josh. Who wouldn’t want to be around Josh, when his enthusiasm is so palpable?

All Hail The Dork King

Hear ye, hear ye! All ye dweebs and jocks, preppies and new-wavers! All hail the dork king, astride his steed (which resembles a dragon, an homage to his Dungeons and Dragons skills).

I played my drum for Him, pa rum pum pum pum.

The crowd goes nuts! A damsel with a parasol tosses Brach’s candies as a sign of support for the new regime!

Competition to be his queen is fierce! Tammy gives him a wink while shamelessly putting her crafty crepe paper skills on display.

Bonnie Tyler lyrics run through her head. She can hardly keep her wits about her.

Isn’t there a white knight upon a fiery steed?
Late at night I toss and turn and dream of what I need!

Not to be outdone, Travis plunges through her crepe paper mayhem, as though lassoed by her wiles.

No need to hold out for a hero any longer, Tammy! I am here with my hairless chest and my peachfuzz ‘stache at your command!

Whom shall she choose?

Daft Redneck

We’re up all night to the sun
We’re up all night to get some
We’re up all night for good fun
We’re up all night to get lucky

( from “Get Lucky” 2014 Grammy Record of the Year)

Even Corey Hart Wouldn’t Wear These At Night

I don’t need to tell you from which decade this new yearbook hails, do I, peeps? Kiss could shout it, shout it out loud. Oh, how this new yearbook score is laden with delicious 80s-ness! No wiggin’ out over wars to protest or lame women’s rights. Just the sweet self-indulgence of excess. I truly hope that these two hotties (Joel and Tim) are alive and have access to WordPress, because who would not want to revisit his starry-eyed Captain-sans-Tenille, Magnum P.I.-Hawaiian-shirt look? Not I.