Oh, okay, okay, her hair -- and the hair of every other woman of that era -- made me miserable. That's because, gentle reader, I am among the hair impaired, and nothing short of a full wig will give me winged mall hair. I felt left out at the time, but I have since become reconciled to my handicap . . . although I still think I deserve a sticker and a special parking place, dammit.
Speaking of things that make me miserable -- I went dress shopping today. A friend of mine is getting married in Las Vegas, around cocktail time, in a suite at the Wynn. Muy glamorous, no? So after I went through my closet and determined that nothing I owned would be appropriate to the occassion, I girded my loins (literally -- brand new undies) and waded into the Memorial Day sales, only to be beaten into the dirt by wave after wave of fug. All the designers or buyers for the limited shopping immediately available to me are thinking either Keira* Knightly in Pride & Prejudice (sheer, empire waist, low cut, spaghetti straps; there's a film-related trend for me to dislike, because I am SOOOOO not Keira Knightly!), Nicole Richie on the Strip (sleazy draped jersey halters), or the Church Lady (ruffled, calf-length floral prints). Meanwhile I'm thinking Elizabeth Taylor in Cleopatra, after she hooked up with Richard Burton, only with less decolletage (alas, I own no honking big diamond necklaces). As usual, I'm out of the mainstream, fashion-wise.
I did try on a bubble skirt while I was shopping. Interesting, but I couldn't figure out what the hell to wear with it. So I left it in the store and vowed to keep looking.
Oh, how rude of moi! This week's Carnivale of the Couture comes to us from Fashion is a Verb.
*Thanks to Go Fug Yourself for the correct spelling of Keira that I was too lazy to find on my own!