Barry Privett, the frontman, signed my ticket stub, and then I got my picture taken with him. I’m posting it even though I look egregiously deranged (or “impeccably blissful”. We’ll go with that.). He told me he liked my outfit. Hear that? The sexy-ass frontman of my favorite band ever (full disclosure: I’ve seen them twice before) liked my outfit.
I should’ve lived in the 1940s. World War II and widespread oppression aside, the fashion was sensual and kind to curves and even vaguely gothic. Yesterday I found a dress I was afraid I’d gotten rid of, and I channeled some Olde Hollywood. With my haircut and perennially red lips, I was already halfway there. I think I’ll call this my Double Indemnity look.
OHAI CURVES. Shitty photo quality, but damn. I feel like a bombshell. Pardon my vainglory.
Dress came to ~4 inches above the knee. I wore mid-calf red leggings underneath.
Titular inspiration from one of my favorite songs. I daydream about seedy Hollywood nightlife more often than I should admit.