Love in the club

My boyfriend thinks my closet is bottomless. Bottomless, maybe. But attractive? Not always.

This past weekend we were on a mission to go to a club. A real club – not a hipster douche bag one in the Mission, where I tend to frequent because I can unashamedly wear a v-neck t-shirt and my beat up cowboy boots. We’re talking about an actual club where girls wear <gasp> dresses and <double gasp> stilettos. This was unfortunate, because sometime over the past 3 years I developed a policy that does not allow me to wear heels to any event that is not a wedding. I celebrate true love with blisters.

I tried on multiple outfits, none of which seemed right for this cursed Club NV (NV = envy, get it? So clever, club-namers).

Outfit 1 was clearly inspired by an 80’s exercise video. Black sequined tank top paired with leggings, grey moon boot type things, with a silver headband. This was not OK.

Outfit 2 fared no better. It was a strapless puffy blouse type  that tied at the waist. A quote from the bf: ‘That is not flattering, as to what it shows, or as to what it reveals.’ Basically, he was saying that I looked like a black marshmallow tied at the waist with string. Or a parachute. Unattractive.

Outfit 3 was a short black cotton dress that I bought during the summer Olympics because it reminded me of a figure skating costume.

Outfit 4 was great – a short black cocktail dress with black heels. Only thing was, I felt so damn naked. That was a dress I had reserved for Vegas and Vegas alone. Since there were no buffets in the near vicinity and no Thunder from Down Under billboards, the dress had to go.

In the end, I wore a dress that I usually wear to work. It’s cute, I think. I felt fine, if not completely overdressed compared to the girls who were wearing dresses that were almost crotch length, which are all apparently the rage.  Anyone want to take me shopping for clubbing attire?

 

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