F-F-F-F-FASHION
We are the gootswa and we're coming to town (beep beep)

Last night I dreamed an interminable dream in which I shopped and shopped and shopped but could not find the perfect White Sox shirt.*

Today I am off to the sprawling and horrifying Woodfield Mall in northwest suburban Schaumburg to (hopefully) dig up a story on the What Not to Wear Mall Tour.

Do you think these things could be related?

BBC's T and S

Unfortunatley the Mall Tour is for the American ripoff of the brilliantly addictive BBC original. The tamer lamer Yank version offers very little in the way of the fine art of ripping someone's style to shreds and then pointing out the assets they've been hiding. Poseur-y US hosts Stacy London and Clinton Kelly are no Trinny and Susanna; never have I seen them grab or smack someone's cans in delight or even once utter the word "tits." Nor do they possess a sense of humour. What's that? Irony? How do you pronounce it?

At least they're bringing the 360-degree mirror and leaving the smarmy hosts at home. And they are going to Ground Zero for bad dressing in the area. We fat. And we dress bad.**

Unfortunately I did not get it together in time to convince Jack from Iraq to don Utilikilt + desert boots + artillery cap and accompany me on this suburban nightmare.

I spose I'll have to rely on my three-tone hair (an overgrown monstrosity featuring gray and brown on top, hennae on the bottom, something else in the middle) and wear one of my usual appropriate-for-someone-20-years-my-junior-outfits and take the flak by myself.

Time to prep by chai-ing up and doing some yoga. In that order.




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*I don't even like the Sox. I'm a north sider. Like it or not, I'm with the Cubs.

**We dumb, too.