But I’m not, so you’ll just have to take my word for it. I had to drive through Georgetown yesterday and I saw:
1. A dude in a blue button-front shirt, bow tie, and pleated khakis (it’s like a uniform here for some reason);
2. Another dude in a lavender button-front shirt, a cream and black argyle vest, white dress pants, and white dress shoes, holding hands with a young lady blandly clad head to toe in what I can only assume to be Ann Taylor Loft (which, by the way, has won the Washington Post’s annual “Best Bets” thingy for best women’s “boutique” multiple times since I’ve lived here. What the fuck, everybody?).
First of all, it was like 35 degrees at that point. Wear a fucking coat, A, and B, do not assault my eyes with your fashion douchery in blinding white in goddamn November. Is that too much to ask? I know better than to ask for flat-fronted pants, but H. Maroni Christburgers, what the hell? The worst part is, I wasn’t even surprised to see that shit.