One of my favorite quotes about fashion comes from the writer Lester Bangs, who said, “style is originality; fashion is fascism.” I think of this quote whenever a particularly nauseating fashion trend takes the world by storm and dresses it in pleated pants.
When it comes to fashion, I’m all about comfort. I’m also all about hating new trends, and then quietly buying into some of them several months after they’ve peaked and gone out of style, and can be purchased in thrift stores. I like to call this Cheap, Poor and Lazy Chic. Still, there are many trends I steer clear of—including the resurgence of trends I didn’t understand to begin with (high-waisted jeans, I’m staring in your utterly unacceptable direction).
I dreaded the Dawn of the Formal Short, for one thing. If you are lucky enough to have shapely legs that go one for miles, you might while wearing formal shorts manage to give the impression that you are an attractive girl wearing unfortunate shorts. And really, that is the BEST outcome you can possibly hope for when wearing such shorts. Meanwhile normal girls with average sized and shaped legs have to walk around looking like Gumby.
Another unfortunate trend I can’t stand? Belts that appear to be keeping your breasts from sliding down your ribs. I have no problem with putting a belt around your natural waist—which I realize can be quite far above your hips. But I’m fairly sure it’s also at least a few inches below your breasts. I’m just saying. Pull your damn belt down. You look like you’re trying to cinch in your ribs—and I thought we were past all that.
So it was with great trepidation and fear that I learned from Jillian of the potential come-back of The Scrunchie. Why, fashion world—WHY? I feel like I’m in the movie Groundhog Day, except instead of reliving the same day over and over again, I’m reliving the same regrettable fashion trends that vanished—for a reason!—into the ages and the closets of so many regretful trend-followers so long ago. Although, come to think of it, I have the feeling that the film Groundhog Day may itself have promoted The Deadly Scrunchie. But don’t blame Andie MacDowell—she does have a ton of hair. I understand the function of the scrunchie; the soft material was perfect for wrapping around your wrist while you waited for your turn to play kickball. The fabric patterns on scrunchies offered a great variety of self-expression, which is unmatched by the thin, dull elastic. I believe I had one scrunchie in day-glo yellow with peace signs on it—which was a perfect reflection of the point in my life that I was at in the seventh grade. But I think we can all agree that the scrunchie’s day is done. Let us wrap it around the wrist of history. You can never go home again.