Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Today in my teenage angst, I wore to work one of my favorite pieces of clothing. It's this black skirt with a corresponding black lace overlay. It's the best. It makes me feel simultaneously fancy and stuck in the nineties.
Anyhow, a woman I know came into the library and complimented me on it. I pointed out my favorite aspect of it being the black lace. Obviously. There's no other reason to own this skirt. Anyway. This woman agreed with me and went on to say that "yeah, you should wear lace as much as you can." I laughed and said I'd see her later. As I was walking back to my desk I thought, what an odd statement. Odd but true. Lace is one of the happiest fabrics in existence. So happy in fact that it became a name.
There was this girl, Lacey, in my high school, who my best friend and I considered to be perfect. She had great hair, great skin, the best clothes and all the friends she wanted. This was pretty much all it took to equal perfection at that age. This was smack in the middle of the Felicity age. That late nineties television show that carried the height of bad nineties/early 2000s fashion. I still don't know if she was aware of our minor idolatry.
Aside from all that, lace will continue in my life, so much so that I'll wear it as much as I can but hopefully not so much that it warrants my child's name.