I have absolutely no idea where I purchased the dress pictured below.
It was somewhere in Williamsburg, possibly near Metropolitan Ave, definitely in a not-yet-fully-gentrified area – a charming vintage hole-in-the-wall, run by an English Bulldog and his musician owner. The mysterious store was open late enough for me to stumble upon it in between weekend bar stops.
That’s code for “I was tipsy enough to get conned into paying $45 for a floral mini dress.”
Whatevs. Some things are too cute to pass up after two Tequilas on the rocks.
I’m all about high hemlines, but this dress uses its innocent print as an excuse to take it to the limit: It fails the fingertip skirt test by the length of one whole hand.
Why, then, do I still feel comfortable wearing it? (And by ‘comfortable,’ I mean with flats and non-pasty legs. Obvs.)
Built-in bloomers. That is some old-school awesomeness right there. It kinda feels like a diaper; then again, it covers the hoo-ha sans bike shorts so NBD.
Granted, the dress is still short enough to suggest itself as a catalyst for crotch shots. But as long as my legs take the focus off my matted, frizzed out, schvitzy August blob of a hairdo, I’m cool with a little overexposure. Fall – and the freedom to blowdry that comes with the season – can’t get here soon enough.
(Photo deets: Belt, DIY material collateral (zero dollars); necklace, Mom’s (legally thieved); sparkly eye shadow, CVS (Physicians Formula, $9.95).