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Life through the eyes of a fashion guru
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My adventures on St. Patrick’s Day taught me a very important lesson. No, it wasn’t that an abundance of green beer leads to a night/morning of pain (I’m only 20, and therefore am disallowed from the bars). I learned that there is a severe shortage among members of our modern-day society. A shortage of a very, very important characteristic – class.
It all began when I was waiting tables Saturday afternoon. I met quite possibly the most classless man in existence. He was approximately 60 years old, had teeth stained from excessive tobacco usage and was clothed in jeans cut well above the knee (thus made into shorts) a sleeveless shirt and dirt-covered shoes. The woman he was with seemed to be attempting to teach him manners; every time I would put something down on the table she would thank me and he would quickly follow suit.
Once they had finished their meals I placed the ticket on their table. The man came to pay me and I jokingly said, “so she left you with the check?”
His superbly-sophisticated reply was, “Na. She’s in the (insert grotesque name for bathroom).”
Wow. But the realization that our society is nearing a complete lack of class didn’t fully hit until later that night.
My roommate and I decided to wander and party-hop with some friends in order to celebrate St. Pat’s. We eventually ended up on the street next to ours, and as we approached the house we met a girl that made me ashamed to be a member of the same gender.
She was standing outside smoking a cigarette, clothed in a bright green bra, thigh-high black-and-green striped socks, a denim miniskirt that was about two sizes too small and a green hat covered in glitter. My roommate and I arrived with a friend of ours, who I had decided to name Mr. Big Deal. Classless Girl turned to Mr. Big Deal and shouted “that better not be that b____ that tried to fight me!”
My roommate and I exchanged looks of confusion and tried not to laugh. I turned to Classless Girl and informed her that I’m not the type to engage in catfights. She led us to the door and discovered that it was locked. She proceeded to bang relentlessly on the door while allowing a stream of obscenities to escape from her mouth. I glanced around to make sure there weren’t any neighbors getting ready to run out of their houses and give Classless Girl the fight she was looking for.
Inside wasn’t any better. Turns out there were a number of classless girls, and St. Patrick’s Day had become more of a national whore holiday than Halloween. One girl was wandering the party in a sheer teddy and black booty shorts – fine attire for the boudoir, but not for a house party. Then all of the classless girls decided to grind on each other in the doorway. It was about that time that I decided I was in a state of limbo in the area of nighttime celebrations (eight months are preventing me from being a part of the downtown scene, and I’ve outgrown the house parties that were fun for the first year of college) and that the world is heading toward trailer park class status.
Whether you’re wearing old sweat pants or Dior, it’s the manner in which you conduct yourself that makes or breaks you. And please, ladies, put something on. There’s nothing wrong with showing a little skin, but come on – no one wants to look like they should be working a street corner. Let’s get it together and curb this unsettling trend. There’s no better accessory than a touch of class.
Sheree Whiteley
