Skip to main content

The Improper Bostonian Fashion Show

Step One: Wear to Office
Step Two: Profit!

Last night Crispy and I went to see The Improper Bostonian Fashion Show at a posh spot in Chinatown. I know that pairing "posh" and "Chinatown" seems odd, given its history as the infamous Combat Zone (Porn! Strip clubs! Murder!). But changes, they are in the air, and on the streets in the form of new luxury high-rise buildings for young professionals seeking an overpriced domicile while they rat race away.

The event was full of promises, encapsulated first and foremost by the three blonde goddesses who were standing in the lobby to indicate via their beauty that, yes, there is a Beautiful People Event occurring in the premises, are you lost, ma'am?

Once on the proper floor, the two of us zeroed in immediately on the food offerings, which were plentiful, if in microscopic amounts. Imagine a large man's hand. Now imagine his pinkie fingernail. That was the size of the foodstuffs proffered.

There was the requisite buffet table, and there were also servers who wandered about with trays of delicacies. As the evening wore on, they learned to recognize my round face shining at them from across the room as I spied their delicious cargo. I helped myself to plump mushrooms stuffed with Parmesan, slivers of asparagus in the delicate embrace of whole wheat wraps, an apricot pretending to be a clam, and three helpings of something puffy that must have originated from nature at some point.

After our bellies were mildly satisfied, thus rendering us slightly less homicidal, we walked back into the room and shamelessly ogled the models outfits on display along with the people who were special enough, like us, to be invited to this super sikrot event. 'Twas a veritable who's-who of Boston's downtown office drones. We spotted many a finance type: tall, sleek, impeccably attired in business suits. The women were exquisitely garbed in fanciful skirts and dresses. There were some Olds as well, trying not to look too nervous at all the staring Millenials.

There was only one rapey guy who was stage-whispering his plans for taking a model home, and he was dressed like this:

So, yeah.

Apparently, the alt-fashion types had come in first, all tatted and dyed and spiked and studded, but got bored and wandered out for a while. We encountered them coming back in when we were on our way out.

As for the fashion show itself--there appeared to be six models doing shifts on three pedestals. They usually needed help getting off and on 'em, mostly because of their toight, toight outfits. My favorite, of course, is the one pictured above: the Backless Sideboob Jumpsuit. I had many earnest conversations with my coworkers today about how versatile this outfit is: you could just slap on a blazer, wear it to work, and then whip the covering off the goods at five o'clock! Such brilliant.

In conclusion: I need more clothes.

This post brought to you by almonds. Almonds: what morally upright people stuff into their (sobbing) faces instead of Cheetos!

Popular posts from this blog

An International Women's Day Miracle!

Truly, International Women's Day is a special day. No, not because multitudes are out there rallying for our rights and giving voice to the powerless. It is because I won a gift card from a company raffle!

Let me explain why this counts as a minor miracle. You see, I never win anything. I answer every damned survey sent my way, participate in all the raffles, buy lottery tickets -- to no avail. This particular raffle occurred monthly, and I had been faithfully entering my name every month for two years, with no results. Finally, last month, I declared: "No more!" and unsubscribed from the mailing list -- but not before entering one final time, because why not.


There's also some déjà vu at play here. You see, four years ago, I won a gift card from a company raffle. The one fracking time I won anything! I was elated! Shortly thereafter, also on International Women's Day, I was laid off from my job.

Sooooo...since the day's almost over, I guess I'm not…

Paint Nite!

Last night I joined the "Oops" Paint Nite event hosted by the Club Cafe in Back Bay. About 12+ people came to relax and have two artists guide them through painting this original work:

The point was not to slavishly duplicate "Oops" -- we were instructed to make it our own, to relax, and not to utter the words, "Mine sucks," "Can you do this for me?" or "I thought this was paint-by-numbers!"

Speaking of dashed hopes, I had assumed that wine was included. I had done something like this before, only it was in the morning and we all got mimosas. Not so here! While the artists were setting up, I schlepped over to the bar and was rewarded with a generous pour of Cabernet. Now I was ready.

The setup: Everyone got a 16" x 20" canvas, three paint brushes, and a palette (a paper plate) with red, yellow, blue, and white paint. One artist (Brian) had the microphone and would paint with us, while the other was the assistant (Kory) who wo…

Get Out (2017)

Get Out has a charismatic lead, a terrific soundtrack, and damn good cinematography. While it’s described as horror/comedy, it’s more disturbing/cringe-y than scary, and I mean that in a good way. This is an entertaining movie that’s also pretty effective as social commentary.

The film stars Daniel Kaluuya as Chris, a photographer who’s about to spend the weekend at his girlfriend Rose’s (Allison Williams) parent’s house. Naturally, it’s in a secluded spot in the woods. When they get there, the awkwardness that might be expected from a first-time meeting gives way to a series of bizarre behaviors and interactions. While Chris initially takes it all in stride, it eventually becomes clear that there’s something sinister going on behind the scenes.

The acting and dialogue are highlights of the film, as is the camera work. In particular, Kaluuya’s eyebrows and head tilts are so expressive that the audience knows what’s going on in his head even as he politely brushes off eccentricities. A…