et tu, anthropolgie?

i admit i like anthropologie, even though it's owned by republicans and the clothes are clearly sewn by three-fingered blind people in ecuador who hate americans (yeah, the quality isn't worth a crap, i've gotten some better made things at the sleezy pickin's on chestnut), and tailored to fit 6 foot, rich, anemic vegan hippies who weigh 100 lbs wet, and pray to the all mighty thor, god of thunder. still, i like them, if only because i strive to wear my glasses and look sexy in old lady/librarian clothes. it's my thing. it's your thing. it's everyone's thing.

most of the time, when i see an anthropolgie outfit i think. boho. chic. funky. it defies planet gap. so, there have been times when i, angie k., have been know to spend an inordinate amount of money on a sweater i will more than likely wear only once, because the fucking catalogue made it look good. i am a marketing target audience. sad but true. in the end, as you can well imagine, the sweaters themselves generally make me look like a homeless, pudgy, dwarven freak with a big ass. and lawd knows, i have the anti-ass, so if it's making me look like i got some junk in the trunk, the problem is with them, not me.

but my point is, have you ever gotten a look at the catalogues, though? i mean, the women look awesome, even if they look like schizophrenic kennedys. you almost forget that nothing they are wearing matches, or is even in the same decade of cool. if you went out of the house wearing any outfit in the anthropologie catalogue, your partner would walk ten steps behind you, or use the relationship blow gun, meant only to be used in extreme circumstances of embarrassing.

whump.
ouch, what was that in my neck? mmmm, feeling sleepy.

next thing you know you are in gap jeans and a black tee. thank god, for the blowgun. but, really, i am currently drooling over these five hundred dollar boots, which, let's face it, i would never wear. i acknowledge this. they are cool as fuck. and i would try them on with every outfit determining that they wouldn't work with ANYTHING. so, this is why i fucking hate anthropologie inasmuchas i love anthropologie. blame genetics. blame my ability to put a fucking chic outfit together. whatever. i. fucking. hate. them.

so, what do i do, even though i know this about my tenuous relationship with anthropologie clothing? i wait for it to go on sale, then buy it on line. everyone at work aaaaaaaaaaahs, and ooooooooooooohs, because, let's face it, they are stylish clothes, that look good on sticks, and in say, plastic. then i take it home and try the items on daily to make sure they still don't look good on me. and never wear them. this interesting, and clearly dysfunctional, relationship i have with the anthropologie people has gotten out of control, because since i order on-line, i have two addresses on their mailing lists: one for delivery, one for billing. so, imagine my chagrin when i receive yet another catalogue from these people yesterday.

let's count them, shall we? i get fall, then late fall, the accessories, then holiday, then gifts, now i get a fucking SOLSTICE catalogue. solstice? only the marketing geniuses at this stupid ass place would send a solstice catalogue and charm me. damn you, anthropologie. and i don't just get one, i get one at home AND at work. two, i get two. of each. i'm sick of being stalked by these assclowns. really. because i have now looked through the same catalogue i looked through this morning, at my desk, because it was in my work mailbox. i know i am encouraging them, but it's haunting and hypnotic. and why have i decided to rant today, because this stupid ass outfit looks good to me, and i blame them. i blame anthropologie for whittling my sense of fashion and style down enough that this ac/dc short pant, suede green huge boot uglyass outfit looks good.

i'm not even going to go into the levels of pain the urban outfitter catalogue causes me--i've never even ordered from them, but seeing twelve year old hipsters staring at me with their methadone-induced pallor makes me rabid. ugh, i need a coffee and a cigarette, and clearly, a therapist.