January 8, 2019

What I Learned in Modeling School, Revised

Green corduroy suit jacket and pants – Target. Dolman sweater – oak & sage. Boots – Crosswalk. Messenger bag – Target.

WYSLTWRT: Gabriel Garzón-Montano “Golden Wings” (because Gabriel wears an equally stellar and place-inappropriate suit and SJWs have to support each other.)

For the four days that I took modeling lessons that I won by getting second place in one division of a “personality pageant” in middle school (I understand that this is a major anti-flex), the star teacher of the event (whose crowning glory was being “Siren #2” in Pirates of The Caribbean: On Stranger Tides) told us two very important rules regarding hands: always keep your fingers separated and never take a photo with f*cked up nails. I break both those rules in the following lookbook.

I couldn’t really tell you what else I learned in build-a-Disney-Channel-star Academy; all I can tell you is that I didn’t exactly graduate cum laude. In fact, still being a junior in college, I’ve yet to graduate from anything that would necessitate the outfit you see here. No corporate holiday parties, no busy streets down which I could strut in the 56 degree (no more, no less–this is a full corduroy pant suit, people!) weather to my conveniently located fictional job from my conveniently located (and rent controlled!) fictional westward-facing loft, and absolutely no place in Nashville or Atlanta where coordinating maroon lipstick with a maroon satchel and maroon boots isn’t met with concern.

But I’ve been thinking a lot about when it’s appropriate to wear certain things to certain places with certain people in certain positions. There are a lot of pieces I have bought, saying to myself “I will wear/carry/use this when I am _____ years old and am doing ______ and I have ______.” Many an outfit has died in the grips of this phrase, and many a back-closet shadow grown. I’m kind of over it.

So, with that, I present to you an outfit I told myself I’d wear to a future party only when I had a job and lived somewhere sartorially convenient and had important people to meet and important things to do. And, as someone who has none of those things and is doing none of those things, I am wearing it now because I like it and it makes me feel good. My revision of modeling school.

I am brown Harry Styles without the range or the money or the third nipple.

I love menswear. I always have and I always will and I will always fantasize being the kind of woman who can wear it without fear. And in this suit, for the entire two hours I had it on, I was on top of the world. I feel like I play the saxophone on weekends whenever I wear this suit. I feel like I could wear it with sunglasses at night and not run into any bouncers–not because I can see at all, but because they all step out of my way, lifting the velvet ropes that look like summer sausages to let me in to the smoky, pulsing club with my name perpetually at the top of the list. I feel like I could go on a vacation in a dirty Florida teen resort and tip the concierge in advance with a “Room 319, Remember that” attitude, just like Paris Geller on her first Spring Break™with Rory. I feel like I reply to emails on my phone in line for black coffee with a “cheers, eo (sent from iPhone)” because that’s how busy and important I am.

I am none of those things. Again, I only had the suit on for two hours.

Earrings – Jondie. Glasses – EyeBuyDirect. Lips – Back of my abandoned makeup drawer in my childhood bedroom.

My attempt to reimagine Zooey Deschanel’s existence as one that is both better at interviewing and at clearing the throat is throttled by the fact that 1) I’m pretty incapable of producing the genuine aloofness that makes cuteness…cute, and 2) have the natural flow of my brunette hair interrupted by a stripe of chestnut desperately trying to cover the hot and steamy affair I had with bleach from this summer.

As a side note: the silver hair would have looked incredible with this outfit. You all had crushes on Jack Frost in Rise of the Guardians and you all would have had crushes on me, you perverts. Next time.

This messenger was given to me on my sixteenth birthday as a front for my real birthday gift: a brand new thong hidden in the zipper pocket so my mother wouldn’t find out that I was damned to live in eternal slutty hellfire.

You know what else makes me feel amazing even if I’m feeling not amazing? A really great pair of shoes. They can alter my mood in an instant. These red leather Crosswalk boots are a perfect example. They came in a rain-soaked USPS box, holding a pink marbled box (um, hello), holding a TOTE BAG (UM, HELLO!) holding the greatest boots I’ve ever had the pleasure of wearing. Every negative review was lamenting how impossibly narrow these boots are. I’m in love.

Very fitting of Nashville for my photoshoot to be bombed by–you guessed it–musicians unloading for a gig. Catch me questioning this man’s boot choice in a picture where he is questioning mine.

So, all that being said, please remember that it literally doesn’t matter where, when, why, or who else: wear what makes you feel good, even if you can only bring yourself to do so for a snippet of a day. I promise it will make you feel more like yourself than any other outfit will.

Here’s the rest of the lookbook!