Yesterday I was gearing up for a walk across the street to have a beer with my fella and I decided to change outfits. I wanted to go from Sunday scrub to lesser Sunday scrub. You’re with me, right? So I changed from some baggier jeans, a random top and a pair of horrendous flip flops to some short shorts, my new cute Creepstreet top, and some leopard flats. Oh and I took my hair down and threw on my big, beautiful, gifted Barton Perreira shades, which I’ve decided are the best sunglasses on earth. Just, so you know.
Anyway, I got into this banter with my guy as we were getting ready to head out the door and he looked at me and said “You look exactly the same”. … I don’t remember the context. Point is, I sure as shit didn’t feel exactly the same and I KNOW I didn’t look it. I looked like 5% less scrubby. At least.
And so as validation I am blog posting the outfit so that I can confirm it was cuter than scuzzy jeans. I made him take all these photos as punishment for daring to compare the two outfits. I mean, CLEARLY I looked totally different and worlds better… although, to him, I’m sure I didn’t. Which fine. But still. The post is happening. Deal with it.
Here’s how I looked at him as we talked about how much different I obviously looked:
Here is when I made him hold open this really adorable white purse that I think I got from the clothing swap. I mean, I know I got it from the clothing swap, but I think it was my friend Laura’s. And I can’t get over the inside mirror. Or the white. Besides getting dirty easily, white is an excellent accessory color for me. Look how much he loves me:
Here are these shoes I bought at H & M for like, no money, but that I can only wear to the bar across the street because they give me blisters and I haven’t been willing to properly break the little fuckers in yet:
Here is where I was jumping back to make sure he was getting the entire outfit in his shots. The shots I was taking to further prove my point about my outfit:
And finally, here is what I put up on Instagram to continue proving my point through various social media outlets while he studiously wrote a postcard to grandma. Productive happy hour if I do say so myself. In the end I think he’d concede this outfit was completely different than the “house outfit”. Or not, but whatever. I feel better and had fun: