You, in your slouchy sweaters and clacking vintage heels and enormous, waist-sinching belts.
You, with your chunky jewelry and stylish knits. With your golden gladiator heels, and opaque black stockings.
Please don't mistake me - this is no insult. I admire your sense of fashion, and the obvious time and effort you put into your wardrobe. I wish I could be similarly well-dressed, and with such variety, every day! Unfortunately, I'm usually rushing to finish work I've procrastinated, or to find something clean to wear, or simply choosing to devote a few extra minutes to my sleep rather than to my appearance.
Sometimes, I wish I were like you, Miss Urban Outfitters from Later English Lit class. Or are you Miss Anthropologie? It doesn't make much of a difference, granted, but I thought I saw you there last week, so maybe it's more accurate.
But yes, sometimes I do wish it - undoubtedly my closet is bleak and outdated compared to yours, a fact I can admit without shame or hesitancy. I wear clothes I find, I borrow clothes from my more stylish sisters, but on the whole, I'm afraid I'm not entirely fashion-forward. And I possess a conviction, deep within me, that I may never be entirely so. I may have good pieces or a few nice outfits, but for now, at least, who has the time, or the money?
Well, you do, of course, Miss Anthropologie. You are Emily Blunt's Emily to my Anne Hathoway's Andrea (from the first half of the movie, at least). And for that, I admire you from afar; which the best I can presently do.
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