A bigger part of my style ethos than I usually like to admit? Inaccessibility. Aspie problems, part the umpteenth. I rarely want to talk to strangers. To that end, I’ve been wearing a lot of suits lately. Does a lady in a suit look like she’s here for your bullshit? Emphatically: no. Better than the bitchiest RBF.
It’s not fair and I don’t endorse it, but damned if it isn’t true: dressing like someone’s grandma means someones treat you like one. And grandmas – at least of the fur-and-vodka variety, if not the milk-and-cookies one – have earned the right not to hear about your dog, your dick, or your subscription to Watchtower.
What I’m saying is I want to be Malory Archer. Nobody fucks with Malory Archer.
Suit: ’50s vintage, via Barge Canal Market
Hat: ’40s/’50s vintage, via Bos & Ruby Vintage
Blouse: antique (my great-grandmother’s!)
Brooch & shoes: thrifted