There are things in this world that are so bad to begin with that one rests assured that they cannot possibly get any worse. As human beings, we need to learn to abolish these na+â-»ve thoughts because anything can be worse with effort and determination.
Yes, if you must know, I did go clothes shopping.
I recall writing a piece in mid-October regarding the fact that all of the sensible, normal clothing in the world had been playing in a canister of green, glowing ooze and then transformed into teenage mutant ninja clothing with either a) far too many holes in places where they are not necessary or b) one or two holes short of being able to cover one's limbs. I simply assumed that this was the fashion industry's low point and that, soon, everything would be back to two-sleeved, stomach-covering normal.
Pfffff.
If there is anything that I have learned, it is to never underestimate the fashion industry. It will do things, create garments, seemingly just to prove you wrong. For example, if you thought that there was no way that anyone would ever in one hundred million billion years create a skirt that was half the length of an average backside, you were wrong.
Just a few weeks ago my little sister, Alaina, was out shopping for a dress to wear for her graduation. She was blessed with the family metabolism, therefore we look nothing alike and are nowhere close to being the same size. Yet, and this is an entirely different issue, she still borrows my clothes without permission. If anyone can explain this phenomenon, I will nominate them for a Nobel Prize.
At any rate, Alaina has always been the more style-savvy of the sisters and tries out the latest trends on occasion. She owns one of those part-spandex, part-rayon shirts that gathers in the front causing the rest of the shirt to ruffle in the girliest of ways. I believe she also owns a shirt with a slit running diagonally across the upper chest, a one-sleeved tank top, and several pair of Capri pants.
However, she too was taken aback by the ruffled short skirts that appear as though they were designed for '80s Valley Girl Barbie, dresses and shirts that are bunched and frilled and adorned with little cloth flowers that could double as lampshades, and jagged hemlines that look like they had been thrown to a pack of ravenous wolves before being shelved.
But the question still remains: Who, other than Candyland's Princess Lollipop, buys these things? Someone must have an inexplicable attraction to them, or they would not be made. My shopping partner has a theory that there is an alternate universe that dresses only in hideous clothes, and our world somehow supplies it. I'm not so sure.
I think we, as a society, need to consider the long-term effects of letting our fashions go to the dogs (or wolves). Do we want our grandchildren walking around looking like Oompaloompas on ecstasy? I think not.
Well, my work here is done. Time to return to my alternate universe to purchase normal clothes.
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