White Jeans. I don’t know who decided that wearing head-to-toe white in the summer was important (maybe Diddy?). Look, I know that white reflects sun and keeps you cool and looks nice on boats. And if you have been blessed with a set of slender, shapely legs and the ability not to spill whatever you happen to be eating immediately onto your lap, then please, knock yourself out with the albino denim.
But unless you live inside a Ralph Lauren ad amongst nothing but sun-bleached rocks and immaculately scrubbed yacht decks, white jeans are not a practical item of clothing. Think about it: what do you think of when you think of summer? Barbecue, right? Grass. Sweat stains. None of which are allowed in these pants. And if you live in New York, forget it. One step outside your door in July and you'll be blasted with a steaming puff of street grime-filled air that would turn Justin Bieber black.
|Victoria Beckham, demonstrating the ever-popular "hip dysplasia" fashion pose. She is not, presumably, about to sit on the NYC subway or eat a plate of ribs.|
Frisbee. When I walk through the park or along the beach and see a group of people throwing a frisbee around and laughing, I don't think, What good, clean fun, or even, Wow, that guy really needs to put his shirt back on. No, I think, I am going to get hit in the face.
The Hipster Reappropriation Of Old Lady Sandals. Remember back in the summers of the early aughts when we all used to shuffle around in those $3 mesh slippers favored by elderly Chinese women? (I used to pair mine fetchingly with my cropped sweatpants during trips to the corner bodega for toilet paper refills. It was a sexy time.)
Anyway, lately I've been noticing these on everyone:
Now, it bears mentioning that these sandals have been in style for a long time, at least among certain sectors of the population. For instance, my mother's Polish cleaning woman has worn them since the late 1980s, usually with the kind of thick support hose you could insulate walls with. And look, better that young women are wearing orthopedic footwear than hooker heels. But really--can't we stop taking the old ladies' shoes?
Gazpacho. I know I'll make some enemies here, but if I wanted to drink cold tomato sauce... well, you'd probably have to lock me in the Ragu factory overnight, Career Opportunities-style, because there is no way I'm doing that voluntarily, I don't care how floridly you pronounce it, Alex Trebek.
|Salsa: It's what's for dinner.|