Ladies, ’90s Fashion Was Only Meant For One Person.

The reemergence of ’90s fashion really kinda bums me out.

By now, you should know very well how I feel about crop tops, but the fact that fashion hasn’t stopped there, and the whole high-waisted, bra-top phenomenon that made the ’90s so wonderfully psychotic is back in full force – who the fuck do I need to judo chop over this?

Remember 5-10 years ago, we all looked back at the ’90s and were like, HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAOMGGG SO AWFUL!!!! How did we suddenly black out on this very important fashion admission – that ’90s style was uncomfortable and embarrassing – that we’ve subjected society to the SAME. GOD. DAMN. MISTAKES?

I think Fashion – yep, I’m totally personifying it – is such a bastard, and she’s playing a joke on all of us.

Let’s take a look at some of the recent celebrity victims of this ’90s epidemic.

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“That high-waisted, poofy, scrunched up jeans mini skirt looks really great, Rihanna!” – Said no one ever. But I think I could ask her to hold my chapstick in the top of her waistband.

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God, STAHP.

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Katy, WHY? You’re wearing a real-life sports bra, dear. Just grab some spare materials, sew these pieces together, and that’s a funky, awesome dress.

Ladies, there is one – and ONLY one – woman on the face of this planet who can rock the ’90s look with no qualms, ifs, ands, or buts.

Kelly. mothafuckin. Kapowski.

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I rest my case.

Stop Crop Tops.

Gandhi once said, “Be the change you want to see in the world.” And really, what’s the point of having a blog if I’m not moving mountains five times a week? That’s why today, my post is dedicated to doing some good.

I hate crop tops. With the burning passion of a stripper with herpes. And “Pour Some Sugar On Me” is about to come on, so it’s showtime.

I want to know why the fashion gods are super fucking lazy right now and continue to cut shirts off before their prime. There are many decent shirt designs in this world, but for some godawful reason, people chose to just…stop. Midway, if we’re lucky.

Let’s go to Figure 1 for an example.

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I like that the model on the right is providing us with the mystery of whether or not she has an innie or an outtie belly button.

And now for Figure 2, the Celebrity example.

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Here, Katy Perry and Selena Gomez are teaching me how to make my sports bras more universal in my wardrobe. And, also, that my favorite color green has a truly awful shade in its palette.

And finally, Figure 3 – the Average Whore Girl example.

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JESUS CHRIST. Look, this shirt is only allowed in horror movies on some no-name actress who ran up into the attic after the killer slashed through the front door, accidentally (but totally on purpose) slicing her shirt perfectly into an ab revealing arc. In about five seconds, she dies – and you feel kinda good about it because she’s a fucking idiot.

Yes, girls. I CAN SEE YOUR STOMACH. Or at least part of it. What of it? I don’t understand what you want from me. I don’t have a penis, so it’s probably not me you want to impress, but it seems you workout your rib cage, so good for you. You look stupid.

It’s because of fashion choices like the ones above where I wish we had random skank inspections, much like fire drills. A time when Joan Rivers might spontaneously show up to class, work, or maybe a movie theater and tell everyone to stand up because she’s going to start giving out skank slips. I imagine the girl in Figure 3 would get the highest of tickets, forcing her to choose either 1) going topless, because she’s already halfway there, so no big, or 2) wearing a pregnant belly the rest of the day, because it’s the only shape that that shirt is really cut for.

You just know when you see a girl wearing a crop top that she had been planning it for a long time, exercising super hard and eating barely a crumb. She wants to be camera ready, and she’s going to Facebook Side Pose the shit out of it when the time comes. It’s like bikini season, except they aren’t in extreme heat or near water, which makes ABSOLUTELY NO SENSE WHATSOEVER.

The change I’d like to make in this world? Normal length shirts. Keep the sports bras at the gym and the belly bearing for pools, beaches, and the Britney Spears YouTube page.

Personally, I’m leading by example and wearing a one piece dress today. Fucking rebel without a cause, right here.

PS: Can we just take a second to appreciate the fact that I blended Gandhi and crop tops in a single, flowing blog post? KABOOM.

Posting Inside Jokes On Facebook: Who do I have to punch to make it stop?

I think I have the good folks at Apple to blame for the majority of inside jokes posted daily on Facebook. Whoever developed the idea of taking a screenshot of a private messaging conversation is a total dick and should be kicked swiftly in the esophagus.

LADIES. What is your deal? It’s always the girls who feel the need to post this shit. What exactly is the point of sharing an inside joke between friends from a private phone to a larger network of people? People you probably never think about except when 1) they’re talking about their dog or boyfriend or baby on your Facebook newsfeed, or 2) you feel incredibly happy and you want a bunch of old high school friends to validate your happiness. You know what I’m talking about, crap like this:

 

And the caption of this attention whoring usually goes something like, “OMG we’re so funny and in love and BFFs and no one else gets it! HA HA HAhaHAhAHA!!1!”

Dear CHRIST. Tina Fey, you feelin’ me on this?

Newsflash, insecure folks of Facebook! You don’t have to post conversations you’re having somewhere else in private to the Facebook world to prove that you have a decent, if totally desperate, social life. Wow – you have a friend?! And look! There’s a heart by the name so he must be super special and love her and now I’m jealous and wish I was her. That’s what you’re trying to do, right? Show everyone that you have it more awesome? Dats coo.

Well I’d like to turn the tables and attention whore through my blog so I can tell you to shut the fuck up. No one cares. Those three “likes” you got are full of pity. You can bet your look-at-us ass that if there was an “attention whoring” button on Facebook, you’d have gotten a record breaking number of clicks.

So the next time you have an embarrassingly ridiculous text conversation with your boyfriend, girlfriend, baby, or dog, just be content and happy with it being between you two. Private. No one fucking cares.

please stop