This past weekend I went to a birthday party. Since it was not just a birthday party, but also a fantacular, I wore a costume. I was a candy girl from the 1940s. My costume was completely slammin. I totally nailed it. I wore vintage pieces I bought this past fall--a black blouse and a black moire jacket with a peplum that buttoned diagonally. With that, I wore a pair of black dance shorts, fishnets and 1940s-style platform sandals with a two-piece wrap-around ankle strap. In fact, everything I was wearing was black. I topped it all off with a hat I borrowed from my neighbor Megan, which I perched on my head at a saucy angle. I looked like a showgirl! Like I should have been in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes or Cabaret. Well...I was covering up too much to look like a showgirl. I looked like a candy girl.
I felt wonderful. I felt powerful. I was in my element. I was doing what I was put on earth to do and doing a goddamn good job of it. I was so amazed that, with the exception of the hat, everything came from my closet. Full disclosure: I've been a candy girl before in Madison's Cherry Pop Burlesque. So, it's not like this was just random sartorial dominion.