IN WHICH I AM ONLY CONSISTENT WHILE INCONSISTENTLY REFERRING TO ALL OF YOU AS “ONE” AND “YOU,” SO, UH, SORRY FOR THAT ONE, YOU
Fellow tightwads, when a man or a woman really loves themselves, it’s hard not to pay attention to them. Sometimes their acts of self-love are obnoxious; sometimes these acts are empowering; and sometimes these acts are better saved for the privacy of their own homes. And then sometimes I make subtly crude jokes on my blog that I hope I can ever live down. Internet archives, how you livin’?
Anyway, dear friends, sometimes these bursts of identity emit pheromones so irresistible to members of whichever gender ya’ll are trying to attract that one can’t dodge the date requests. (And sometimes I set phasers exclusively to ‘run-on sentences.’ Sorry!) When this happens, one’s newfound confidence may skyrocket, perhaps leading you to be a bit more invested in your wardrobe. That’s all good and well, but it just isn’t currently true for this tightwad, dear friends. Nay, this is not a belated Valentine’s Day post where I recap what I wore on my big night out. Nah. (I FOOLED YOU!) I just have this weird thing where I just really like myself and stuff, so I forgo ‘occasion appropriateness’ and bust out outfits that make me happy all the time. Dear friends, this is actually a post in which I urge you to do the same!
It’s a strange concept, really: wearing things simply to impress myself? What is this madness? How does she even get up in the morning? Not easily, but that’s not because of the aforementioned concept. (I drink coffee and digress.) Nay, dear friends, I’ve found that anytime I’m in an outfit rut—and, with this budget, that happens more often than not—it’s super helpful to challenge myself this way. Also, dressing only for myself is such a simply achieved self-confidence spike. I guess you could say I’m dating myself! Also, myself and I are in a relationship and it’s totally complicated, but like, I just can’t let go, ya know? This wardrobe thing spices things up a bit.
Anywho, here’s a brokedown worthy of only the finest half-priced chocolates Target had to offer the day after Valetine’s Day:
Grand total, sans tax and a best photo booth picture Oscar statuette (topical!): ~$76
Also, I would like to point out that I don’t blow dry my hair and I didn’t have enough time to let it settle before taking these photos. Oops. In case you were wondering, here is how my hair ended up that day:
Not too shabby! Protip: If your hair is malleable yet limp like mine, try curling it with your fingers after you shower. I twist my thin hair into four medium-sized sections, consistently tightening the twists as they air dry. This saves time, energy and your hair from heat damage. I learned this from my best fraind (Drescher) and I will never go back!
Fellow tightwads, I’ve missed you dearly. I’m working on another new post, so watch out for it! If you need me, you know where to find me: in the back of the boutique, perusing the ‘final sale only’ racks.
IN WHICH I TOTALLY STARTED WEARING THIS (INSERT CLOTHING ITEM HERE) BECAUSE OF BEYONCE, TAKE TWO
Fellow tightwads, I’m starting to wonder if I have any other interests besides “Beyonce” anymore. Ever since she released photos of her GORGEOUS
facesake daughter, Blue Ivy Carter (who I actually thought was “Blue Ivory” and just kind of assumed B named her baby after my skin tone…), I’ve been spending a lot more of time evaluating her presence in her life. I know that if we met the world would never be the same—think natural disasters and lottery riggings—so, clearly said presence could never be physical (BOO!). Yes, yes, we’ve already established that I watch her videos on the daily. But wearing red jeans because her husband (and my mental frenemy) Jay Z refers to his lady wearing them in a song off Watch the Throne?
This has happened twice now. In other news, I’ll be renaming this blog “Ten Thousand Plays in a Row is Too Much: Steph, You Really Need to Get off Beyonce’s Jock. She Doesn’t Know You Exist and Your Life is Wasting Away. By the Way, You’re 78 Years Old Now. What the Hell. This is Sad.” What a long blog name! Long blog names translates into being more descriptive which means more readership, right? That’s how the internet works, I’m pretty sure. Attention spans!
Though my fate as a failed BFF (Beyonce Friend Forever) is tragic, my girl still inspired one of my favorite outfits to date. And for that the ends completely justified the means. Also, I’m sure she can feel my love radiating all the way from here. She tolerates it. So, yeah. Corporate meets creative. Wait, this just in—that last sentence depleted Beyonce’s “Withstanding Stephanie” reserves. She no longer tolerates me. Well, shucks.
So, uh, anyway…here’s a lil something that’s about to go dumb, how come? Yeah, that’s my brokedown. Cue La Roux’s chorus:
Grand total, sans tax and a multimillion dollar empire/smile: ~$40
Fellow tightwads, I feel like I’ve cheated you out of actual commentary. Yikes! I promise I have a personality of my own…it’s just hidden below my inability to produce original content, which is a flaw that I mask below layers and layers of dispensable pop culture references. So, uh…if you need (the real) me, you know where to find me: in the back of the boutique, perusing the ‘final sale only’ racks.