Back in Washington DC, I worked at a non-profit. I taught playwriting. I wore jeans.
Cute top, pair of chucks, good to go.
Here in NY, I work at a major network conglorporation. Now, I'm only in Day Two of my new job, but already it is clear as New York tap water that I need a new wardrobe to look like the card-carrying member of the liberal media elite that I am. (Read: Cool Without Caring.) I've got jackets, shoes, and tops, but nothing for my lower half.
Now, I'm patiently waiting for my Manhattan Ass to arrive. I've been hoofing it for dozens of blocks each day, up and down hills, escalators, and stairs, moving into my new apartment, etc. My cardiac efficiency has zoomed into healthy goodness, but I have yet to observe a corresponding tightening of my southern hemisphere. So, to cover the excess real estate in some semblance of hipsterish respectability until the inevitable downsizing occurs, I went shopping in midtown on my lunch break for some funky cool jeans and corduroys.
H&M doesn't carry clothes above size 12. Neither does Zara. Nor J Crew.
So I went to Harlem.
On 125th Street, I found a magnificent plethora of trousers to choose from in all size of Plenty.
They understand the needs of thick girls in Harlem.
Two pair of cords, one pair of jeans, and one messenger bag to wear jauntily on the "hip."
All so I can blend in. Because that's why I moved to New York City, to blend in.
i'm a white writer. in new york. original, no? i've been blogging since october 2002. this blog picks up in october 2008, when i moved from DC to NY...(and then I moved to Maine in 2012)