Let’s just admit it. Let’s own it. We are slobs.
And we didn’t need to hear that sad truth from some outfit called MSN Travel, which recently conducted an international survey and decided that Vancouverites are the third worst dressers on the globe.
Orlando is No. 1, by the way, followed by Maui at No. 2, which we’re sure has something to do with muu-muus and sandals with black socks. (For more on that, check out my colleague Pete McMartin’s clever column on Vancouver’s new shame and what to do about it, published Saturday in The Vancouver Sun.)
All we have to do is look around on the streets of Metro Vancouver — in the grocery store, on the SkyTrain, at the opera, in a courtroom, at a funeral, in a restaurant — to know that there is no longer any hierarchal standard of what to where when and, of course, what not to wear, ever.
We have lost our minds, it seems, when we go to the closet every morning and decide how we are going to present ourselves for the day.
Anyway, this latest stain on our city all started with some editors at GQ magazine and one Vivian Song, who made the list but does not call herself the fashion police, but who quite rightly cited tastelessness and sloppiness as the twin evils upon which she made her choices.
Vancouver, she says, is guilty of too much casual, too much stretch, the latter mostly in the form of yoga pants, and the oft-cited purveyor of all things yoga, Lululemon, takes a bit of spanking for its contribution to this collective eyesore, taking much of the flak in the subsequent maelstrom that followed the release of the survey. But, honestly, Lululemon is the least of our sartorial worries. At least their clothing is well-made and reasonably stylish.
Our issue, in fact, isn’t really what we’re wearing, but where we wear it. Jeans to funerals. Sweat pants to the grocery store. Pyjamas to high school. Flip-flops to a wedding. Ball caps to court. Wife beaters to the symphony. Cleavage to the office. And those yoga pants, everywhere, usually trying to contain girth not meant for the trendy confines of Luon. It’s all a non-stop eye-smarting parade of too much skin, too many ill-fitting outfits and too many inappropriate choices, like we all got dressed in the dark.
So, folks, stop winging about this dubious honour in this world-class city of ours. We are slobs, pure and simple, and it’s time we not only admitted it but, if we’re embarrassed at all, maybe pulled up our socks. Maybe it’s time to sit through a couple weeks worth of What Not To Wear, or actually listen to our mothers when they suggest that short shorts are likely going to kill our chances at that job interview. Unless it’s for Hooters, of course.
So, stop wearing yoga pants if your arse is bigger than a flat-screen television. Ditch the stretched-out bedazzled hoodie that you think is okay to wear to church. And do not, under any circumstances, sport a Tilley hat anywhere except the folk festival.
Dress like you care. Dress like you know there’s only one chance to make a first impression. Dress like you want to be seen, instead of being seen as how you are dressed.
And, should you need inspiration to step it up, consider that even Snooki gets better reviews than the average Vancouverite; the Jersey Shore came in number 10 on the list.
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