day no. 2 of betrayal

In mid-November of last year, I received an email notifying me of a winter quarter Italian fashion class, which promised to discuss the history of (among other things) stilettos, couture fashion and correct attire for prostitutes, as well as the gendering of shopping.

My heart stopped. If you know me, it’s probable that I repeatedly told you how excited I was for winter quarter to start. It is even more probable that you became really annoyed with me.

When I got to the first lecture this past Monday, there was a tech-person fiddling with the computer. She was wearing a fitted gray, knee length skirt that flared out at the bottom, sheer black nylons, and stumpy boots (with no cool military appeal). There was also the mistake of a blazer that was either cropped or shrunken. Feel free, as I did, to make the assumption that this entire outfit was purchased at Sears. In 1995.

I took off my cape-coat (see previous post) and looked around for the instructor, expecting to see this fierce Italian woman in horn-rimmed glasses and head-to-toe Chanel. Basically, I was expecting Edna from The Incredibles.

The tech-person spoke (where there should have been an Italian accent, there was South African which, I'll admit, is still quite cool), and introduced herself as the instructor.

Oh, Irony.

I was horrified. I had been betrayed.

She turned her head, motioning toward the projector, and I saw that her hair was pulled back with a spider claw clip.

I was doubly horrified. Don’t get me wrong: I own a spider claw clip as well. I wear it to hold my hair back as I mentally vomit in response to witnessing the fashion atrocities of fashion instructors.

My fashion instructor is apparently under the impression that if she uses words like “fabulous” and “bellissimo,” she can wear hideously dated outfits.

After arriving to lecture today, I shed my military trench ($30, Forever 21), hoping The Instructor would show up in subtle couture and relieve me with a “Just kidding!”

I was given no such relief.

I know this is harsh. And I know that her attire has no correlation with her ability to teach a class (at least I hope it doesn’t; you’re not supposed to trust a thin chef, right? The same could be said of women who "loved" wearing school uniforms.(I also don’t intend to use this blog as a venue for bashing Poor Decisions Others Make When Getting Dressed, although I would totally read that. This post is obviously a necessary exception.)) With any other person, I wouldn’t have noticed. But that’s just it: I wanted her to be remarkable in the most superficial sense.

As a parting thought: VPL is never, ever a good idea. The last time I remember being this offended was when I saw a wood-paneled PT Cruiser. Some may call me anti-feminist because of this (well, this and my passion for the most impractical of shoes, etc etc), but come on: someone get this woman a thong, stat. And a cashmere cardigan.