As of 8 a.m. yesterday morning, the Lilly Pulitzer sale went live. It also invariably crashed on a few of us, due to the sheer amount of unleashed estrogen pursuing anything pink or green in a futile attempt to mask our deep, troubling insecurities with cheery dresses and tunics.
Lilly Pulitzer said it best: “Life’s a party–dress like it.” Well, guess what, size zeros? The party’s over once you step off that graduation stage. As of right now, you still have your fraternity basements, laundry rooms, brotherhood rooms, hallways, hidden trap doors, and if you’re really desperate, bathrooms. The rest of us postgrad girls have to make do with happy hours and specific bars that cater to those of us who can still drink a pitcher of Bud Light in one sitting while not losing our literal and metaphorical croakies.
What I’m trying to say to you dear, dear, sorority girls who are currently vying for the same maxi dresses, cocktail-appropriate sheaths, and turtle bedecked tumblers that we are trying to add to our carts–let us have it. And by “us,” I mean the collective group of postgrad girls trying to maintain some semblance of day drunk euphoria you all take for granted.
So while we’re sitting at our respective bars, talking to some finance bro wearing a baseball cap we rightfully assume he’s sporting to hide a receding hairline, at least we’re still wearing a navy and white elephant print. When we’re reeling from a poor performance review at work, at least we have a starfish-accented cardigan pretentiously tied around our shoulders. When we see our ex post a picture on Instagram of himself with his new, 21-year-old fetus girlfriend, at least our boobs look great in that dress we somehow got all the grass stains off of after repeatedly falling at a polo match last summer.
To explain the relevance of this sale, it’s not the clothes that actually matter. It’s all about the confidence that comes with wearing something so truly obnoxious that it acts as a siren call for all the d-bag former frat stars you know you adore. This is not a plea, but an explanation of what is right, true, and fair. Besides, you’ll be in our boardroom and bar-ready heels soon enough.
Your Future, Embittered Self