Winter traps us in our homes, offering Netflix and couches perfectly indented by our winter butts as a consolation. Sure, we could come home from work, make dinner, clean up, and go… christ a’mighty. I’ve lost my motivation to venture out just thinking about it.
So here we are. A bunch of loafs. We joke about it with friends and coworkers. We share binge-watching recommendations. We wear paint-stained fleece pants from 2002, making us barely presentable to answer the door. And that’s only if the visitor is a Greenpeace solicitor in equally vintage sweats.
I implore you, friends: to act like a loaf does not require one to look like a loaf. Maintaining at least a little self-esteem is crucial in such times.
As in any fine work of cinema, this revelation came to me as I noticed myself in the mirror. I slowly examined my face, then scanned my grubtacular frump. “No! NO! What have I become!?” I cried. “There has to be a better way!”
So, I dashed to the car and drove to Bloomingdales. Or rather, I walked with moderate fervor. To my computer. I knew the great Oz/the internet could help.
To my dismay, Google shrugged when I demanded “non-frumpy vintage warm yet flattering sexy winter loungewear -fleece”. After considerable commitment to cracking the search algorithms that failed me, my clear vision faded. Prolonged internet shopping had rendered me susceptible to weird sh*t on Etsy. So I bought this:
A floor-length, vintage, acrylic HOODIE!? What went wrong? Nothing, because it clearly fits all criteria. Especially “sexy”. Never mind that when I (reluctantly) showed my husband he said, “Ha! That looks exactly like a robe my mom used to wear!” I frowned as the internet undoubtedly laughed its vengeful laugh. Sensing my disheartenment, he added, “That’s not a bad thing; I loved my mom!”
Please contact me with any leads.