Oh, Wrap Dress, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways. . .
One. You are so easy to wear with just a simple piece of fabric wrapped around my waist and tied with a simple knot at my side.
Two. You fit me in the summer when I only need to wear sandals to feel the breeze--when it decides to blow--which cools the sweat beads that drip down my back like light rain on a window pane.
Three. You fit me in the winter when I wear the following layers: 2 pair of tights, socks over the tights and inside my boots, a long-sleeve shirt under, and on top a cardigan sweater whose buttons are pursed like the stitches on a Thanksgiving turkey. Now, it appears as if you are only a skirt, but you and I know the real secret (wink).
Four. I love thee when you are so easy to wear after finding you on my floor, wrapped in a ball, under a misplaced heal from three days before when I didn't bother to hang you properly in the closet yet. Your finely spun polyester fabric, although highly flammable, is wrinkle-proof and requires no time to iron. I can wear you in a seconds notice as I am finishing the touches on a light makeup job, gathering my hair in a rubber band, and taking one last sip of a half-drunk cup of coffee as I step into black heels and forget my mobile phone on the kitchen table.
Five. You fit over my hips when I have spent too much time at the kitchen counter stuffing wheat husk toast (because they are somehow healthier than the white toast ones), covered in butter (because it IS healthier than Margarine--but only because it is real food) and honey (because it is healthier than sugar--even brown sugar). I know I have the Mean Reds when I am eating these. As Holly Golightly explains in Breakfast at Tiffany's, "The Mean Reds are not like The Blues because when you have The Blues you're just sad that's all, but when you have The Mean Reds, suddenly you're sad and you don't know why. The only thing to do in that case is to [cover crackers with butter and honey] and [stuff yourself until it all goes away]" [Brackets are my own.] It is a 'meal' that I eat when I know that the Mean Reds have gotten me down and nothing is to be done but self-medicate with a concoction of crunchy-buttery-sweet-street-legal drug that the markets sell so freely while, in an ironic twist, cocaine remains illegal. Although with the healthier recipe option, it is still responsible for widening my hips faster than Cal-Trans can install a new lane on the 405 Highway. Wrap Dress, I love you because you are so forgiving to the extra Kilos I have obtained in a Mean Reds meltdown.
Six. I can pull you out of a tightly packed backpack and wear you over jeans for an afternoon coffee, or dress you up with tights and heels for a night out, or better yet throw on a scarf to wear to a business meeting.
Seven. I can wear you twice in a week, and no one will know.. refer to #3
Eight. I love you when Spring comes, and I have been working out like Jack LaLane getting ready for his 86th Birthday. When I finally realize that it is bathing suit season approaching and I am tanning on my terrace so that no one will see the white of my corrugated belly. When I can finally start actually running at the track instead of trotting like the Michelin Man because I am wearing layer upon layer of sport socks and long-sleeve shirts that make it impossible to move. When my morning routine turns from pressing snooze on my alarm for an hour--because I cannot bear to feel the frigid air of the morning pressed against my skin as I change from my pajama sweats and a hoody to my workout sweats and a hoody--to getting up with only one snooze warning. When my morning tunes turn from This American Life and Ira Glass's voice on my ipod to Lil' Wayne and Jay-Z wrapping about their bling and Bentleys. When my cheeks go from looking like a sqirrel has packed a whole cache of nuts in them to normal apple-sized pods set correctly in place between my ears and nose. When I feel confident enough to wear you with just a belt and not wearing layers of clothing to hide my Winter Body.
Nine. I can wear you in any season, and you still look fashionable enough. Although I am sick and tired of wearing you after 2 years, other people have not even noticed that I keep you on a rotation between dress, skirt, and long top.
Ode the The Wrap Dress
Oh, Wrap Dress, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways. . .
One. You are so easy to wear with just a simple piece of fabric wrapped around my waist and tied with a simple knot at my side.
Two. You fit me in the summer when I only need to wear sandals to feel the breeze--when it decides to blow--which cools the sweat beads that drip down my back like light rain on a window pane.
Three. You fit me in the winter when I wear the following layers: 2 pair of tights, socks over the tights and inside my boots, a long-sleeve shirt under, and on top a cardigan sweater whose buttons are pursed like the stitches on a Thanksgiving turkey. Now, it appears as if you are only a skirt, but you and I know the real secret (wink).
Four. I love thee when you are so easy to wear after finding you on my floor, wrapped in a ball, under a misplaced heal from three days before when I didn't bother to hang you properly in the closet yet. Your finely spun polyester fabric, although highly flammable, is wrinkle-proof and requires no time to iron. I can wear you in a seconds notice as I am finishing the touches on a light makeup job, gathering my hair in a rubber band, and taking one last sip of a half-drunk cup of coffee as I step into black heels and forget my mobile phone on the kitchen table.
Five. You fit over my hips when I have spent too much time at the kitchen counter stuffing wheat husk toast (because they are somehow healthier than the white toast ones), covered in butter (because it IS healthier than Margarine--but only because it is real food) and honey (because it is healthier than sugar--even brown sugar). I know I have the Mean Reds when I am eating these. As Holly Golightly explains in Breakfast at Tiffany's, "The Mean Reds are not like The Blues because when you have The Blues you're just sad that's all, but when you have The Mean Reds, suddenly you're sad and you don't know why. The only thing to do in that case is to [cover crackers with butter and honey] and [stuff yourself until it all goes away]" [Brackets are my own.] It is a 'meal' that I eat when I know that the Mean Reds have gotten me down and nothing is to be done but self-medicate with a concoction of crunchy-buttery-sweet-street-legal drug that the markets sell so freely while, in an ironic twist, cocaine remains illegal. Although with the healthier recipe option, it is still responsible for widening my hips faster than Cal-Trans can install a new lane on the 405 Highway. Wrap Dress, I love you because you are so forgiving to the extra Kilos I have obtained in a Mean Reds meltdown.
Six. I can pull you out of a tightly packed backpack and wear you over jeans for an afternoon coffee, or dress you up with tights and heels for a night out, or better yet throw on a scarf to wear to a business meeting.
Seven. I can wear you twice in a week, and no one will know.. refer to #3
Eight. I love you when Spring comes, and I have been working out like Jack LaLane getting ready for his 86th Birthday. When I finally realize that it is bathing suit season approaching and I am tanning on my terrace so that no one will see the white of my corrugated belly. When I can finally start actually running at the track instead of trotting like the Michelin Man because I am wearing layer upon layer of sport socks and long-sleeve shirts that make it impossible to move. When my morning routine turns from pressing snooze on my alarm for an hour--because I cannot bear to feel the frigid air of the morning pressed against my skin as I change from my pajama sweats and a hoody to my workout sweats and a hoody--to getting up with only one snooze warning. When my morning tunes turn from This American Life and Ira Glass's voice on my ipod to Lil' Wayne and Jay-Z wrapping about their bling and Bentleys. When my cheeks go from looking like a sqirrel has packed a whole cache of nuts in them to normal apple-sized pods set correctly in place between my ears and nose. When I feel confident enough to wear you with just a belt and not wearing layers of clothing to hide my Winter Body.
Nine. I can wear you in any season, and you still look fashionable enough. Although I am sick and tired of wearing you after 2 years, other people have not even noticed that I keep you on a rotation between dress, skirt, and long top.
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