fashion crimes for the skies.

I am currently sitting in Toronto Pearson Airport waiting to be able to board my plane. It’s exciting, not as nerveracking as I thought it would be, and made all the better by Bruce Springsteen singing Rosalita into my ears.

I could go on and on about the trip that I’m going on but if you’ve been reading my blog (or plan to continue to read it) then you’ll see enough of that.

I’m really just ultimately concerned about one thing right now: airport fashion.

Okay, let’s be fair in that I don’t look exquisite right now. Yoga pants, zip up hoodie, an absolute lack of makeup and hair styling do not make for a, “Wow you look so pretty!” sort of outfit.

See?

See?

The thing is, at least my clothes fit. There was a guy in front of me when we were checking in whose pants made him look like a lady they were so tight. They weren’t even skinny jeans or a poor choice in sweatpants, these were dress pants that he chose to wear in an attempt to look dressy (I assume). Dude, if your pants make you look like you might break out into a rendition of “Hips Don’t Lie” because hey, why not, you clearly have them, then you should get rid of them.

Cut to the girls that were wearing their five inch heels, more makeup than I wear in a year and the least comfortable shirts to travel in that I could imagine and you’ve suddenly got all ends of the spectrum.

I’m all for looking your best when it’s appropriate, but is your Saturday-night-at-a-douchebag-club look the most appropriate thing for flying? Unless you’re about to walk into the special musical episode of Jersey Shore taking place in an airplane that no one else was aware of, it really isn’t. Sorry for judging so much but… just kidding totally not sorry.

I’m judging hardcore.

I just figured that in this month-long trip to Ireland I would see many things that I’d never seen before. I’d discover things about the world and myself that I just didn’t know existed. I didn’t know that my discoveries would start right here at home with the confusing choices that everyone around me is making with their apparel.

I’m not even kidding, as I just typed that sentence I looked up and saw a middle-aged man in a crewneck with neon green and purple ghosts on it tucked into his jeans. STOP GIVING ME MATERIAL, PEOPLE.

All I’m saying is that maybe we should just have an airport dress code a la the Grammys this year. Then I don’t have to worry about your nip slips, the holes in your elastic-bottom sweatpants or if you actually wear what you’re wearing to work.

Oh, and I promise you that there have been people that have walked by me today and said, “Is she actually travelling in public in that?”

So it goes both ways, I suppose.

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