Fashion Victim

I find the over-fashionable to be boring and pathetic. It seems to me that all the bells and whistles that come with fancy clothes really boil down to a beautiful distraction. Yeah silly girl, there is a situation in Darfur but first make sure you get on the waiting list for that 1,000 dollar purse!

This used to never bother me until I had to be confronted with the over-fashionable on a daily basis. I have to share office space with a magazine that deals in all things high fashion and culture. So the conversation in the halls, if you happen to run into one of these fashion drones and are forced to make small talk, tends to be vapid and leaves you feeling dirty and a little less intelligent. It’s like everyone on my floor came out of central casting for “The Devil Wears Prada” and “Ugly Betty”. Until I saw it with my own eyes I would have gone on thinking those shows were filled with sweeping generalizations and overblown stereotypes. Nope. Those people exist, and the girls pee on the seat in the bathroom (Too much information? Perhaps, but I’m doing everything in my power to demystify these heathens.)

Now, there is one straight guy who works in that office so heaven forbid if the girls he works with see you talking to him. It’s like those girls are plotting something very weird for him and he has no idea. When he walks past me I tend to turn into the wall of the hallway and pretend to really be interested in bad office art, to avoid any menial conversation that will in turn make me a target for a bunch of mean girls. He stopped me once in the kitchen to tell me I was wearing a great t-shirt. I responded by saying, “No. It’s stupid.” Great answer! I was mortified and didn’t leave my office for the rest of the day. God knows what he must have thought, but he had no idea that by speaking to me he was putting my life in jeopardy.

This morning I witnessed one of the fashionistas asking my co-worker who her colorist was, because she was looking for something a little more boring to do with her hair. My co-worker responded, “This is my natural color.” Awkward.

Suddenly the fashionistas focus in the work kitchen shifted to me:

“Oh my God, who makes those boots? They are great!”

Why are they asking me, I just want some water.

“Ummmm….You mean the name of the cobbler?” I asked, innocently. I always say, veiled sarcasm is the best deflector.

They just stared. They must think cobbler is a dessert and I’m stupid. Fine. I left the kitchen remarkably unscathed. While I shouldn't’t value their opinion, I couldn't’t help it. I went straight to the bathroom and lifted my leg on the sink counter so I could see my boots and thought to myself, “Yeah, those bitches are right. These really are great boots!” I guess in the end, sometimes I like being vapid too.