Let me put it on the record that I’m not proud of wearing non-thrifted non-vintage. Sometimes it just happens. Sometimes you buy a Hell Bunny dress because Old Gold is having a 50%-off sale and you’ve just gotten new ink and you realize you don’t own any blue, like at all. And then sometimes you need to be screamingly blasphemous. So you hock a loogie on the vintage gods and pull out your best petticoat. (And somewhere in there you change your hair color. Pink just wasn’t right for the season. Fall is for feeling like a bombshell, not a pixie.)
I’m not apologizing for wearing a fast-fashion dress. That’s silly – who would I grovel to? Besides, I’ve come to think of fast fashion, unsustainable and shoddily made as it is, as junk food. One donut won’t clog your arteries; one dress won’t kill the planet. The perfect is the age-old enemy of the good, and I think my almost-entirely-thrifted wardrobe is just that: good enough.
And, I mean, I feel really freaking cute.