Maybe He Thinks I Stole His Shirt...

Shirt (H&M Men's, similar here), Trousers (Wayf via Nordstrom, similar here), Shoes (Asos - old, similar here), Necklace (Dogeared), Bracelets (Nadri), Watch (Marc by Marc Jacobs)

When it comes to fashion, I am a greedy biatch...in the sense that I have an insatiable appetite for it. I simply can not consume enough of it, no matter what form my consumption takes (i.e. purchasing, reading, seeing, browsing, wearing, talking, touching, dreaming (both day and night), smelling...the usual). In fact, I, like many other style obsessed 20-somethings, am a Hungry, Hungry Fashion Hippo. Indeed, it is a gluttonous affair. Except of course when I am thumbing through a magazine staring at Cara Delevigne's legs...then, after about 5 minutes of mushbrained ogling, I throw my magazine frizbee style at the nearest wall. Then, I've had enough. But that's beside the point.

So when I find myself at a frustrating crossroads where I feel like I simply can't get enough, when I need something else, something more, even if only temporarily, I head to the Men's Department—digitally, physically, philosophically, and otherwise.

Now I am no Neil Armstrong here (wrong use of this reference probably); I'm not blazing any trails. Leandra Medine has built an entire empire on man repelling, often with the exployment of actual men's clothing, always looking chic and slightly goofy like I wish I could. And hello, Marlene Dietrich was fetishizing this very act of appropriation way before any of us yo-yos ever started lazily wearing our boyfreinds' shirts with some sort of purpose and our noses in the air.

With the boyish trends of 90s self presentation running rampant this fall (and apparently all over the Spring/Summer '14 collections, too!*), I was inspired to rummage through my collection of men's pieces of which I have a few (note: "my collection of men's pieces" does not mean, "my boyfriend's closet," though the man does have some rather nice duds, and I'm thinking I might steal one of his ties soon). This shirt I got free and clear and not from a boyfriend but from a clothing swap** last year from my friend Rose, who had concluded along with her roommate at the time, that she had absolutely no idea what man this shirt belonged to, and that it had probably been hanging in her closet since she moved in. SCORE! (I washed it obviously.) Which also probably makes it a lucky shirt since it was probably there as a result of someone getting lucky, right?! Sure.

And there is something inherently sexy about wearing a man's shirt, isn't there? At least maybe in a cliché Rom-Com scene kinda of a way, where Protagonista emerges from the bedroom of Handsome's apartment, swimming in Handsome's dress shirt from the evening before, touseled hair, perfect face, leggy and squinting into the morning, awash in a post-coital haze. "OH GOODNESS I just couldn't find a shred of my clothing anywhere because of the carnivorous nature in which you derobed me last night so I totally had to throw on the sweaty button-down you were wearing yesterday and only half button it and in all the wrong places too because I have simply lost all fine motor skill capacities from the limb-numbing sex we had. Good morning!" Sure. But maybe what makes it sexy is the fact that I think women tend to look better in men's dress shirts than men often do (pectorals aside), and that brand of gender-dress-shattering subversion is HOT. 

In any case, the sort-of point is that if you ever find yourself in need of some fresh food to "feed the fashion beast" as it were (the beast being you, sorry), turn your attention toward the Men's Department, or your boyfriend's closet.


*So far.
**These are the best kept not-secrets of my social and sartorial lives and are a perennial source of unhinged joy, complete with those bouts of laughter where you laugh so hard and so continually that you are choked with silence and vibrating while doing so. Highly recommended.