A good pair of frames tells the world that you came to f*ck shit up, but can still play nice when you take them off.
PJs are a thing right now. Specifically, PJ tops are all sorts of fashion HOT. And we are taking things to the next level: full-on pajama sets out in the wild. Usually I'm not really a fan of über casual outerwear but pajamas like these Celine ones are just too luxe to only wear to bed. I mean, if they are good enough for Marc Jacobs to walk down the runway in, they are good enough for me to party in, right? RIGHT?!
On the street the trend has this weird mixed vibe of casual and elite. If you think about it, there is a very specific set of people who actually wear button down matching pajamas to go to sleep in. You take that much stock in your sleepwear in an almost presidential way, I'm going to tip my wee hat to you.
So, I took to the streets for sweet Jane Pratt and wore these totally traditional PJs out on a wintery November night. Here's what happened:
I was hanging out with my number one weekend warrior Roxanne and everything was all fun and gossip, until she fell asleep in my bed. I realized that I was not really that far behind her and I got myself out of bed and decided it was finally time to do the fashion dare that I had promised Jane I would do like a month ago. The samples had been sitting in my apartment for a few weeks and they were starting to wrinkle. It was time. I put on my new (borrowed) PJs and against every fiber in my being telling me that NOW was the time to crawl into bed, I put on my fur coat and some booties and woke up Roxanne.
She suggested that I pop the collar to make it look less like I was actually wearing pajamas but, like, where is the fun in that? Also, I don’t think I could get around the fact that I actually was wearing a full two-piece pajama set to the bar. This was happening, whether I casually (FASHIONABLY) rolled up the sleeves or not. So this is what we came up with:
Full disclosure, I’m wearing leggings underneath all of this. It is effing icy outside, kittens, and I’m not looking to freeze and die for Jane Pratt, sorry. JK, I totally would, just not tonight. Anyway, I put on some lipstick and went out into the rock hard freeze to meet up with my cool, fun, possibly clinically insane friend Adam who lives down the street.
I had to kind of ease into it, because I felt a little weird. I usually dress really well (DUH) so this was a little traumatic at first. I don’t even wear sweatpants out of the house. Sweatpants are the flip-flops of the winter. I believe that you really should try to dress presentably because every conversation is an interview for the job of Life. This outfit was really not interview friendly.
So I started the night at Adam’s (he took all of these photos by the way; he is an artist and filmmaker and you should check out his work in this PLUG) and nobody there was really fazed. Most people were just worried that I was cold. One girl at his house gave me a meek “you look comfortable?” right before I walked away because I don’t have time for boring responses. So, off to the bar we went.
I want you guys to know that I am actually NOT the first person to do this whole hog PJ look. (Surprise, right?!) Adam told me that Julian Schnabel has been doing the full PJs for centuries. If you don’t know who that is, you should just Google him, his work is great but more importantly he is having this weird spontaneous resurgence in the art world and people are actually buying his art now.
Oh, it was also really really cold that night. SO COLD. So I stayed in my neighborhood. I live in Williamsburg/Bushwick and if you know anything about those neighborhoods, you know that weird assholes wear weird clothes on oversized bicycles like all day every day so I wasn’t really expecting anything particularly shocking to happen.
BOY WAS I WRONG.
We went to this divey place called Second Chance near my house (NOW YOU KNOW WHERE I LIVE). Lots of leather jackets, beanies and Converse at this joint, so I felt like maybe my super luxe Natori PJs would be at least a little shocking to the biker punks that usually frequent this fine drinking establishment.
It’s not the most crowded place so, luckily, the pool table was open. I only thought about theoretically playing pool until recently because my boyfriend is a pool fiend and I don’t drink and I can be a real bore at bars unless I have an activity. Also, I’m super competitive. I pretend not to be but actually every interaction with another human is generally some sort of battle. That’s something I have to figure out on my own though. MOVING ON.
So, I get like two balls in (haha) and this Metalocalypse guy comes up to me.
“What's the deal with the pajamas?”
“It’s a dare, I mean, I lost a bet.”
I don’t really know why I lied but for some reason it just felt like more legit to lie about it. Showing up to a bar wearing full PJs because “it’s for work” just sounds really lame and weird to me, even if it is the truth.
My lie went a long way and we started talking. He also asked if I was cold and I coyly lifted up my pant leg to reveal my super chic and totally warm Forever 21 leggings. I looked over his shoulder and saw some guy take a photo of me with his cell phone. Because I’m paranoid and think everybody hates me, my first instinct was, “Cool, now I’m going to be on some Look At This Stupid Hipster website." Alas, this was not the case, but that comes later. My new metal friend was satisfied that I wasn’t going to freeze and wished me luck on the rest of my game.
I got two more balls in. (That is also a lie. I was nervous and anxious because I was a total weirdo at the bar and I completely screwed up this game. The balls totally work with the rhythm of this article, so we are just going to run with it.) As I was lining up my third shot I heard a very familiar voice screeching “WHAT?!” I looked up and saw an old, old super cool super talented friend of mine, laughing hysterically at me.
“What are you wearing?”
“Well, it’s for a story for the site. But I’ve been lying about it and telling people I lost a bet because that’s a better story.”
I can’t even keep my own freaking secrets.
I was super stoked to see sweet Jen and her awesome gaggle of epically dressed women friends -- too bad I was dressed like an oversized cartoon banana.
Jen told me all about her life now and that she is going away to Southeast Asia for four months with her boyfriend, “like, just to get out of the city.” That’s cool, Jen. I’m booking for a promotion by wearing a full-piece pajama set out on a Saturday to prove myself to my bosses. You say tomato.
Jen left because she had to work the next morning -- actually, by that time, in like four hours. During the time I was talking to her, my buddies had skipped all my turns and I was effectively knocked out of the game. We are a very supportive group.
We went outside to have a smoke, where I ran into my metal buddy who was talking to the incognito photographer from before.
“So, you lost a bet?”
“Yep! That’s why I’m wearing pajamas”
“What was the bet?”
Oops! Hadn’t thought that far into the lie and I just told him it was a secret and I couldn’t tell him. I saved myself by telling him I was in fact, a woman of her word and I wore the pajamas. He was impressed.
“YOU’RE the guy who took a photo of me! Don’t you put it on the internet or something.”
Um, this is ironic, Olivia.
“I didn’t even get the photo! It was all blurry. Here, look.”
So he took out his phone and showed me the photo that was totally lame.
“Good.” I said, actually kind of relieved that I wouldn’t be on some hater site, because I’m still pretty paranoid. He was totally nice about it, too, and showed me as he deleted the photograph from his phone. The image disappeared into his iPhone trashcan to reveal a topless photo of some actress. Only slightly embarrassed, if only trying to be polite, he swiped quickly to the next image, which happened to be a photo of him peeing in a urinal with his pants around his ankles.
We laughed because this is my type of guy obviously.
“Sometimes me and my buddies pee in urinals with our pants around our ankles just to freak other dudes out.”
Well, this guy is awesome.
We talked for a bit, debated whether the topless actress was Photoshopped or not and then I returned to my friends.
“Are you done being an attention whore now and are you ready to talk to us?”
Well played, Adam, speaking the truth.
“Actually, I’m tired, and I want to go home.”
“Yeah, me, too.”
This is why we are friends. (Actually, Adam ended up staying awake until 5 am with our other friend Luke, watching YouTube videos, while I managed to watch five mins of Battlestar before passing out for ten hours.)
We stopped for a snack on the way home because I thought I was hungry, but I actually don’t really eat after eight so I just got some cigarettes.
I wish I had some amazing, hilarious story to tell you about the deli guy making a pass at me or something, but honestly, deli guys don’t really care who you are and just want you to get in and get out, so nothing really happened.
The three-block walk to my house was actually excruciating, because by this time it was only a few degrees away from snowing and it was dark and my leggings had pretty much given up on keeping me warm.
I bid farewell to my sweet nighttime buddies, whom I had actually ignored all night, thanked Adam for being my photographer for the evening and went home.
I don't really know if this is a look I'd really be into long term. Don't get me wrong, these Louis Vuitton PJs are what I imagine only the classiest English countryside children would wear. These PJs are a ton nicer than some of my "expensive" dresses. That said, I probably would wear some of these if they were bestowed upon me.
I mean, look at Riri, obviously she knows what the eff is going on generally when it comes to clothes. So if I did decide to run with this, at least I'd be in certified glam company. I'm not sure if this is something I'm going to run with today, though.
I like my clothes black, tight and intimidating, and one thing I learned on my night out is that there is something about piping that says "please come talk to me" -- and that is actually my worst nightmare.