The older I get, the more invitations I get to events for overpriced things that I'd rather not purchase: tupperware, subpar jewelry, boxed cake mix, tote bags, and most recently, boutique clothing. These parties generally rob me of the two things that draw me to shopping in the first place-- discovering unique items and getting them for a bargain. Despite my better instincts, I always wind up attending out of obligation (and for free wine and hummus, of course). Unfortunately, the obligation extends beyond making a cameo and results in me spending a minimum of $40 on something that I mildly detest.
Needless to say when my sister-in-law invited me to attend her boutique clothing party, I was less than thrilled. Fresh from experiencing my first fender bender, I strolled in fifteen minutes late, exhausted from work, and looking rather rough. My mood lightened when I spotted the pinot grigio, chocolate covered strawberries, and much to my surprise, moderately fashionable clothing items on a SALE RACK! It was a bloody miracle.
Being the shameless shopper that I am, I hopped right on over to the discounted clothing and scoured through the items. Most were unseasonable. Some were just straight up fugly. The majority weren't even my size. I had almost given up all hope when I found it-- a gray and white striped top with a jeweled collar and exposed zipper. It was practically a Saturday evening essential.
My sister-in-law, a hostess with the mostest, had fashioned the bedrooms to be dressing rooms for the event. So I snagged the top and headed to my niece's room. Lillian, the 3 year old fashionista, followed me to her quarters. After all, when buying new clothes, it's always helpful to have an unbiased opinion.
Operating under the impression that the stars and Mercury had aligned for the sole purpose of me having a positive catalogue party experience, I tried on the top. #Goodvibesonly poured through my veins. That is, until I looked in the mirror and realized that a good six inches of my torso were exposed. I pondered my reflection. Was I too old and too fat to sport such an item? I mean, I work out (sometimes) and don't have children. Aren't those the only vague qualifications for crop top candidates?
The longer I questioned my reflection, the more vapid and analytical I became. We've all been witness to the girls who are too chubby or oddly proportioned to sport the crop top, but do anyways. And then, on the other end of the spectrum, there are the ones with the smoking hot bods who seem to sport the mini tops just for the sake of bragging.
Wrapped in every bit of it's minimal threading is the crop top conundrum: damned if you should, damned if you shouldn't. I stared at my reflection engaging in a love/hate relationship with both the top and my body. Eventually I settled on the conclusion that nothing is more fashionable than wearing overwhelming, unapologetic confidence. Who couldn't give props to a girl, regardless of body type or pants size, who had the boobs (which is feminist for balls) to don a crop top?
Gazing into the mirror, I decided to take a page out of crop top girl's book. Sure I was 26 and had had pizza for breakfast that morning, but I was going to do it. I would buy this crop top and own it (figuratively and literally.) Abandoning my reflection, I went to undress and was reminded that Lilly was in the room, "Well, what do you think?" I asked her.
Glancing up from her picture book, the three year old fashion police answered with a definitive, "That looks strange."
And just like that, the crop top conundrum was settled.
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