It started with sweaters and cardigans. Actually, I lie, it was 2002 – I rocked denim jackets. Then came the discovery of the Abercrombie cardigan. And then came the tights. Now I won’t walk out of the house unless I’m wearing a good 25% of my closet. Some cardigans require a vest because I’m not thrilled with the length of the cardigan. Some dresses need a slip for that same reason. And really, I love all of my clothes and can’t part with them for more than ten hours at a time. They lose their luster.
I clearly wear too much clothing … at once. It’s like a safety blanket. I think it’s the Bubba in my head telling me to dress for a blizzard … you never can be too sure (I live in Miami.)
Plug your ears honey … I once had a boyfriend who announced, “All of my friends think you’re an Orthodox Jew.” The layering was out of control at this point.
My friends whine mercilessly when I roll up to the club in sequined dress, tights, and cardigan. They tug at my sleeves and and ask every drunk in the club if I would in fact look hotter without the sweater. Usually these members of my tipsy audience just nod stupidly and slosh their drink onto my Alexander Wang’s. Lushes.
I swear sometimes it’s cool to rock the Yeshiva look. And I’m never cold. And I secretly weigh 108 pounds (or you know, in that ballpark) under all of those layers – “Surprise, I’m a waif!” And the beauty of marriage – my husband thinks my library chic look is adorable, or he’s just trying to get into my three layers of pants.