Life’s A Beach, And Then You Diet

Published June 14, 2012 by WELCOME TO HEIDI

I’m beginning to get slightly concerned that companies might start putting an age limit on clothing.  Yesterday when I bought a pair of neon yellow cut off shorts I was convinced some snotty 12 year old sales girl would pop out from behind the register and snatch them away from me shouting – “you – to old.”  I’ve been giving a lot of clothing away lately – items I’ve decided I’m too old to wear.  This is a very depressing concept.  One that clearly has not reached Bestsey Johnson.  I can’t explain how I know what pieces are no longer right for a fifty year old– but I just do.  Then again, I wore pigtails to work the other day so it’s not really that much of a system.

I think – like Garanimals – somebody might want to start putting things on tags that will ban certain people from making certain purchases.  I’ve always wondered if designers completely freak out when they see fatties shoving themselves into their Herve Leger bandaid dresses.  God knows Christian Louboutin would probably like to ban the entire Kardashian family from wearing his red bottomed shoes.  Those beautiful thin heels were not designed to support Kim K’s ass.  Nothing was.  If I designed something extraordinary and saw a hideous human being wearing it – I’d make them take it off right then and there like some kind of style Nazi.  I’d pay them for the dress and make them disrobe.  Then I’d give them a robe – from Dress For Less.

Los Angeles is the kind of city that needs to institute a Fashion Police Department.  This is a town where you see people wearing things they shouldn’t be allowed to leave the house in and if they do – they should definitely get a citation. White shoes, spandex pants , shorts that show ass cheeks, and that’s just the gays.  Women here dress like they’re about to hit the pole.  Everything’s out – especially the boobs.  It’s an “I paid for these so I’m wearing them on the outside” kind of an attitude.  As someone who has always had boobs – trust me – they won’t really help you in life – unless you’re looking for a life where no men take you seriously and women hate you.  Fake boobs should not be a choice.  I always wanted to be a member of the itty bitty titty committee.  Shirts hang better and people actually look you in the eye when speaking to you.

I’m getting ready for a little island vacation and that means I have to start searching for the single worst clothing item a woman has to put on – a bikini.  If I could turn back the hands of time and remember just one day where I was comfortable in a swimsuit I would channel that person and take her with me.  I hate how I look in a bikini – it’s really just waterproof fabric to put over my cellulite.  I hate cellulite.  It is life’s most cruel joke.   Standing in a fluorescent dressing room trying on tiny things when you feel overweight is akin to standing naked in the middle of Gelson’s supermarket.   You can’t walk out of the dressing room and see how it looks in real light because someone might see you and there’s always that one weird husband standing way too close to the ladies dressing room.  I may just wear my old suits from when my body looked a little trimmer and if someone walks up to me on the beach and says – too old – I’ll just slap them – with my fat.


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