Get Your Fash-On! I Hate You.

Old Navy: To You, I Say No

I say no to the brown leather jacket with the ruffled leather collar and the string-tie closure at the middle that greeted me at the door. I could have sworn it cried out, "I am the love child of AC Slater's bomber jacket and Jessie Spano's ruffled poet blouse.", but I had also drank a lot of codeine cough syrup at that point, it being Wednesday and all.

I say no the striped formal cuffed shorts that will never be worn by anyone who's actually able to pull that look off. I'm looking at you, Tori Spelling.

I say no to the corduroy newsboy caps for women, because they're corduroy. And newsboy caps.

I say no to the jersey knit WHITE GAUCHOS that didn't even have the decency to be on the clearance rack. There they were, right in the middle of store, unreduced in price and unashamed.

Lastly, I say no to the ultrasuede MID-CALF FUCHSIA SLOUCH BOOTS WITH THE WEDGE HEEL that jumped out from around the corner of the business casual aisle and simultaneously kicked me in the face with their hideousness while pinning me to the ground until I submitted to the demons of classic American design brought to life by the nimble fingers of Indonesian children.

It was enough to almost make me hack up the delicious pretzel-dog I had purchased from Auntie Anne's just an hour earlier.

I departed Old Navy and walked down to Claire's Boutique, but that's another story for another day.

Maggie