It’s that time of year when many of you are having to properly outfit your fat asses and haul them off to some compulsory party environment where you can’t even get blackout drunk to erase the memory of your wasted evening -- or you can, but everybody might be looking at you funny come Monday morning.
Is it obvious yet that I hate holiday parties? I mean, I’m not great at parties in general, unless half the people present are as weird and awkward as I am and will therefore humor my sudden outbursts on the injustice of the death penalty or some obscure pop culture reference or why I hate pants so much. Otherwise I wander off to find the other person there who hates parties (there’s usually at least one more) so we can sit in mutually irritated silence.
Part of my party aversion comes from the fact that I don’t really drink. I don’t not-drink, on a formal level, but I don’t so much drink either. The beer my stepdad drank at Thanksgiving this year was actually left over from Thanksgiving LAST year (sorry, Jules). I’ve had two bottles of wine sitting on top of my fridge for almost as long. I like the IDEA of drinking more, but I just have a hard time committing to it. Also it’s expensive.
What was I talking about again?
OH RIGHT -- PARTIES. Yeah, so you probably have to wear something, right? Because wearing My Little Pony pajama bottoms and a slanket is probably not a good idea. Unless it’s a slumber party. GUYS LET’S HAVE A SLUMBER PARTY.
But first, some dresses with sparkly shit on them for all your exciting holiday events, the excuse to put together a fussy partyish ensemble being the best thing about the season. Even if I'm only gonna wear it to clean out my fridge on New Year's Eve.
So I hear Baz Luhrmann’s "Gatsby" is coming to theaters sometime in the next decade, but, hey, you don’t have to wait to start loading up on roaring 20s style. Swan by Clements Ribero HAD the dress for you -- they even called it the “Gatsby” dress -- but now it’s out of stock.
But there’s good news! Rise Rosalie has the above decidedly Gatsbyish option. So worry not, if you were all chuffed to go out looking like a lardy Daisy Buchanan whilst sucking down wine out of a bottle with a kangaroo on it and trying to remember that nobody ever said, “Gee, I wish I’d made out with Dirk from Marketing when I had the chance,” because Dirk is probably married and drives an embarrassing sports car and uses too much product in his hair. That moment can still come for you.
IS it a kangaroo on that bottle? Maybe it’s a wallaby. This is the sort of thing I would research if I were an actual journalist.
OR, maybe you’d prefer to go out looking like a piece of early-20th-century New York architecture. I’m not gonna judge. Some folks just wanna be buildings, nothing you can do. It’d ALSO make for convenient camouflage should you need to hide from an unwanted encounter with a particularly heinous ex. POOF, you’re a flying buttress. Problem solved.
The best thing about a big skirt -- and I mean a REALLY BIG SKIRT -- is that nobody can quite tell how fat you really are. “But wait!” you squeak, “Lesley, I thought you advocated that we not give a crap whether people can tell how fat we are! I thought we weren’t supposed to be futilely attempting to hide our perceived so-called flaws!”
QUITE RIGHT, dear reader, although I believe this ought to go both ways -- if you’re not dressing in hopes of tricking people into thinking you’re NOT fat, then the next logical (haaahaha) step is to start dressing to trick people into thinking you’re FREAKING ENORMOUS. Like just to mess with everybody! Does this sound like fun to any of you? Because I do it allll the time!
The one item my fatmaking arsenal lacks is a good tea-length tutu skirt, a situation I am working on remedying posthaste. In the meantime, however, ASOS has this prim Goth Princess minidress with a lace top and attached tutu skirt, a marvel of foofitude. Witness its foofiness. I wanna foof around in that.
Wait, “foof” isn’t already a slang term for something else, is it? I refuse to go to Urban Dictionary to check.
ASOS likes to call this dress the “Swing Dress With Lace Applique.” I like to call it “A Youthful Miss Havisham That Never Was Frolics in the Garden of Ever-Darkening Gloom.” Because yes, I am contractually obligated to make Miss Havisham references with a certain frequency lest the Dickens Police to whom I sold my sense of humor so many years ago come and drag me away to lock me in an orphanage basement with several dozen wailing crossing-sweeper children until I go properly insane.
What’s weird is I don’t even LIKE Dickens all that much.
ANYWAY, this will make your shit all sparkly and party-appropriate while ALSO giving you the sense that you’ve wandered into the soiree in question whilst wearing a fancy nightgown, and that you are being attacked by some form of Lovecraftian evil from the hem up. OH, you’re like an iconoclastic modern lady in an Edwardian novel! Or you’re Miss Havisham and it'll end in a fire. Please don’t ask me to make sense of it all, I can’t.
For many years, Michael Kors was sitting on the judging panel on Project Runway, and whenever they did those inevitably offensive “real people” challenges, Kors would get up on designers’ jocks for failing with their usually-chunky ladies’ outfits, making grand pronouncements about what “bigger women” want in their clothes. And I kind of rolled my eyes because for much of this period Michael Kors’ label didn’t even MAKE plus sizes.
That has since changed, I’m happy to say, although I did not expect that the results would be so obviously intended to look like someone wandered off with an alien costume from the original series of Star Trek. I mean, there is nothing wrong with wanting to look like Ladyla, from the planet Vulvulous, wearing her special sex-sequin wrap dress in hopes of wooing the Enterprise’s arrogant and brutally handsome captain. It’s just not the direction I expected the Kors brand to take. HAPPY NEW YEAR, let’s make out on this faux fiberglass rock to celebrate.
If Star Trek’s not your style, Kors may still have your number, as you can also consider this liquidy black number, clearly cribbed from the wardrobe for the Kryptonians in Superman 2.
I am obsessed with this dress from eShakti, because it totally reminds me of the background-dancer zombies in the Thriller video, and I’m not being cute when I say that from the age of seven or eight all I really wanted when I grew up was the freedom to dress like an extra in the Thriller video. Like I was a 1950s girl headed to prom when a mysterious man appeared on the road in front of the car my date was driving and we crashed and died and now I am the risen dead making monster claws behind Michael Jackson.
These are normal things for a child that age to fantasize about, yes? Either way, go watch that Thriller video and I promise your Friday will be much improved.
And let’s not even think about the fact that pretty much all the clothes I like are costumes. Because if fashion can't have a sense of humor about itself, I want no part of it.