There are some laws we do choose to abide. Some of the time. So I had Rob pull over on a drive through
East Germany rural Vermont this weekend so I could sip a cold beer and get some fresh air. A look of belated comprehension washed over his face as he realized then why I’d bought a gigantic Heineken keg can along with my pack of gum at the gas station.
Another law with which I chose to toe the line is that of high-waisted pants. Oh, the endless debates. And for someone whose rules of dressing are almost entirely based around staying true to one’s body type, I can’t believe that I’d even risk it—high waistlines are not forgiving on busty gals. Exhibit A: J. Simpson; wrong. Exhibit B: Katie Holmes; right.
A few more swimmer kicks and hours of planks and I’ll do this with little to no reservations.
In other news, this was totally inspired by Barbara Bach’s wardrobe in The Spy Who Loved Me, which we watched Friday while I hydrated and napped intermittently. Caftans, Moroccan tunics, metalmouths, center parts, a groovy underwater Lotus, and a Carly Simon-infiltrated score—revisit it if you haven’t lately.
[Carly Simon, “Nobody Does It Better”]