The Tragic Realization that You Are Too Old for Urban Outfitters
It was the great Patty Griffin who once said, “it took awhile to understand the beauty of just letting go.” And, years past the point I should have, I’m gonna let him fly. Him here meaning Urban Outfitters.
I was clad almost exclusively in Urban Outfitters most wannabe-hipster-chic finery from roughly 2002 until 2007, with minor judgment lapses since.
This is me in 2006. I am pouting because I’m the worst, as you can tell.
As 30 approaches, I’ve finally hit the turn. I officially request that Urban Outfitters remove itself from my lawn.
Because this is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.
Because paying this kind of money for Michelle Duggar’s casual daywear seems excessive.
Because you should not have to rock both sideboob and camel toe together in the same outfit.
Because at this point why even bother with a shirt?
Because at this point why even bother with pants?
Because you are not trying to make weight for a wrestling match and do not require this much pleather-induced crotch sweat.
Because irony is dead and these shirts killed it.
Because $44 ARE YOU KIDDING ME?
Because fringe pants are not the look.
Because intestine pants are not the look.
Because why does your crotch need that much breathing room? Is it to recover from the pleather shorts?
Because no, we do not get to make fun of moms for 20 years then steal their jeans.
Because this is just a tote bag with the bottom cut open.
Because these shoes are a sledgehammer of reality into my rose-colored ’90s footwear glasses.
Because Russian-mob-wife chic has never been a thing.
Because…wait, I take back everything I said. I need three of these at once.
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