It is a widely held belief among DC women that the riding boot is a flattering, go-anywhere, evergreen boot. They're easy and look great. You can throw them on in the rain or dress them up. They are versatile and hassle-free.
Your riding boots are a tribal band tattoo. They do not represent any form of authentic self-expression and relegate your personal style to a Lucky magazine subscriber. They're only functional with respect to a specific purpose, and you've never seen a horse outside of the Preakness. I don't wear bowling shoes to the office. I don't show up to lunch in ski boots.
Leopard Print Will Gavage Your Eardrums Until You’re Forced to Leave Brunch Before Finishing Your Bennies and Momos
Leopards were once raised in small cages and force fed MAC cosmetics to swell the annoyingness of their livers. Once the organ was removed, ranchers would skin the animal and use the hide to detract women of discernment from entering the grounds. The hides were soon being stolen by neighboring 35 year-old, 7 Series-owning women who would fashion them into scarves and skinny accent belts. The intentions for which were to show their insufereable and unavoidably entitled nature. To communicate to their neighbors that over-accessorizing and layering perfumes would ensure their names are remembered by the Burke Williams' staff.
The leopard print women began to form cliques. Chatty groups whose purpose served only to convince others of how much manufactured fun they were having by consciously elevating the volume of their conversations to an inescapable level. And thus began the brunch table of Girls Who Wear Leopard Print.
We get it, women of New York, your black leather jacket with overtly open zipper and slightly askew collar ensures everyone in the bar knows you are not to be fucked with. You are not the type of girl who owns a record player. You don't pose for pictures. None of your candles are scented. You wait at least two drinks before discreetly referencing the time you got mugged on the way to a friend's art gallery opening and still made it on time. You only eat at restaurants with less than forty Yelp reviews. You won't even visit your roommate from college in Astoria because there's a rumor it might be getting a Whole Foods. You have a tattoo that shows your disdain for Bluetooth devices. You only hang out with your close friends because it's impossible to have an intelligent conversation with anyone else. You call people pussies. And cunts.
Did that girl just call that dude a cunt because he still listens to Dirty Projectors?
Yeah, I heard that too.
I think it was the girl in the disheveled black leather jacket who is clearly not to be fucked with.
Women are unknowingly murdering the assumedly invincible sex drive of their significant others.
The wedge has a humble beginning, which can be traced back to a well-intentioned cobbler attempting to outfit his daughter with a shoe that would render her undesirable to potential suitors. He succeeded, but in the process provided a convenient aid in fetching wool fedoras and label-laden handbags from top shelves of closets. Soon women were leaving their homes while still wedged as it presented an effective method of eliminating advances from male onlookers. The wedge became a staple in thousands of women's otherwise aesthetically inoffensive wardrobes. Soon the wedge began to devolve into a more comfortable alternative to the ever-so-lovely heel. And before long the wedge was snuffing out libidos in unfortunate cities across the country.
The wedge is a hybrid. And hybrids are inherently evil. For example, the rap/rock band. Soiling the tastes of adolescent listeners innocently attending local music festivals. The iPad. Convincing yuppies that a device too large to carry around like a phone and incapable of handling the menial tasks of a laptop should be the foundation of any post-collegiate middle manager's technological harem. Even the hybrid car, while economical and admirably environmentally conscious, is made to resemble a mobile handheld vacuum with three SUVs' worth of blind spots.