By now we’re all familiar with the results of CBS’ Grammy Awards Nudity & Obscenity memo that detailed how female stars were to “adequately cover buttocks and breasts,” and avoid wearing “thong type costumes,” anything see-through, or a look that could flash the audience their “female breast nipples” or genitals.
(Can we have a moment about how only female breast nipples are obscene? Not that his chest was bad, or could you see his nips under all those tats, but what the hell was Wiz Khalifa wearing?)
Back the ladies, who mostly got the memo. Witness the Queen-of-Hearts-meets-Scarlett-O’Hara get-up worn by new-mom and 9-time Grammy winner, Adele. JLo, please give a sista a hand and pass that bitch your stylist’s number!
Not that I’m one to cast stones here. Just last week I attended a fancy schmancy pre-Grammy party in a circa 2002 puke green sweater that I pulled out of the archives. Sadly, it was the most “fashion forward” item I had in my closet.
It probably doesn’t surprise you to find that I was the invisible woman at the party drowned out by a gorgeous sea of youth and couture.
At any rate, the leaked fashion don’ts memo got me thinking: If CBS can dictate what to wear at the Grammys, why can’t the Bitch’in Suburbia offer the same gentle guidance to her audience? Based on her personal experience, of course.
TO: Breeders or Anyone Who Dwells in Suburbia
RE: What the hell are you wearing?
It has come to the Bitch’in Fashion Police’s attention that many of you lost your sense of style, not to mention general perkiness, dedication to personal grooming, and ability to withstand the allure of comfy (read: destroyed) and vintage (read: older than dirt) clothing. In the best interest of all parties, up to and including your mortified offspring and pets, we strongly recommend the following:
1) Burn everything that is ripped, stained, or shredded. That includes the Gap t-shirt you got on sale when you bought your teenage son’s first pair of infant jeans and the holey flannel PJ bottoms you got for Christmas around the same time. Otherwise known as your “lounge wear.”
2) Do not step foot outside in your spouse’s ripped, stained, or shredded clothing. Not even to take out the trash.
3) Work out togs are for when you are actually engaging in physical activity. And note, physical activity does not include carpool pick-up, grocery shopping, attending PTA meetings, returning library books, grabbing a latte, or any other like errands or casual social engagement.
4) If you can smell your own hair, it’s time to take a shower.
5) Take your jeans with the worn-out inseams to the tailor immediately. Honestly, nobody needs a sneak peek of your wooly panties…. Wait, what do you mean, you’re not wearing any undies cuz you did everyone else’s laundry first? While sexy in theory, that’s just sad in practice.
6) If the last time you were measured for a bra was when you first needed one, it’s time to do it again. And add those nursing bras or other pregnancy-era lingerie IMMEDIATELY to the burn pile.
7) Speaking of support, gentlemen — you are not exempt! Your saggy boxers when worn in combination with your weekend warrior sweatpants have been known to traumatize small children and mortify your wife. Frankly, it’s a problem.
8) And you know what else is a problem, guys? Pants that are so shredded at the bottom you look like an extra from Les Miz, high waist jeans or worse, pleated khakis worn with white sneakers that make you look like Ernest Borgnine’s body double (may he Rest in Peace), and t-shirts with pit stains that make you look like, well, you smell. Maybe you do — check that out, too.
9) High rise jeans, ladies, happen to be back in style after several torturous years of low-slung skinny numbers. Run, don’t walk — finally a socially acceptable way to hide your muffin top!
10) You know how you put off shopping for yourself? Yeah, well, it’s obvious. Leave the kids at home, grab a credit card that isn’t maxed out, and go get yourself some clothes that fit right and make you look and feel great.
By the way, although the Queen-B of Bitch’in Suburbia is not normally exempt from this list, this week she is chaperoning a 6th grade field trip for three days. This is what we call a legitimate fashion faux pas hall pass.
So if you see her wearing a shredded Michigan sweatshirt, a pair of old tie-dye Converse high tops from her senior year in college, and sweats so holey that the Pope has requested he borrow them as “lounge wear” for his upcoming retirement (SNAP!), just look the other way. It’s not pretty, but for a change, it’s appropriate.