Tuesday, January 13, 2009

The Devil Wears Prada

I saw this movie 3 times. The first time because I wanted to, and I really liked it. And then I saw it again, because my mom wanted to see it, and I liked it again. Then, some friends wanted to see a movie, and this was chosen, and I HATED it. I realized how insufferable Anne Hathaway is, and how trite the story is, and how the supporting cast of this movie is the only redeeming quality, and how they got Stanley Tucci and Meryl Streep is a mystery to me.

So, this movie is a fashion show, and if you're like me, and like fashion only on a Lucky magazine level, not on a fall double issue of In Style level, then this thinly storied movie can really only be enjoyed once.

Basically, Anne Hathaway's character is all shlumpy at first, and wears a size 6, and then she gets with the program, and gets better clothes (presumably for free), and drops into a size 4. Then she realizes she can't step all over people to make it to the top, so she goes to work for a newspaper, which is more noble.

Every year I make a resolution to stop dressing like a ragamuffin.

Every year.

I like shopping, and buying clothes, but I sort of hate dressing myself in the morning. Every morning, I roll unceremoniously out of bed, shower (occasionally), and then stand in front of my closet deciding which sweater will keep me warmest, and debating whether or not I can get away with wearing my Chicago Bears sweatshirt to work on days my boss isn't in (I've never done it - I lack the nerve).

The thing is, I don't have to be at my job super early, between 9 and 9:30 am. I don't have to wear super professional clothes, the dress code is pretty loosey-goosey, within reason (see Chicago Bears, above). This is the kind of job, dressing-wise, that I always wanted, not too fancy, not too casual. And now that I have it, why don't I wear the denim pencil skirt with those brown boots I bought, telling myself they were an "investment"?

In a word, Laziness. It rules me, fashion-wise. Which is why, every year, I resolve to stop dressing like a ragamuffin.


  1. I was at a restaurant last night and there was a huge tv in another part of the room and at one point in the evening I looked up and saw Anne Hathaway's enormouse head bob across it. I was slighly disturbed. She is almost unbearable to watch.

  2. Anne Hathaway drives D nuts, but I sorta don't mind her until she opens her mouth and talks for reals. I mean, her speech was horrific the other night, although that was no cause for Angelina to be a total B%$#@. I guess I am going to reserve final judgment until I see Rachel Getting Married.

    Anyways, I have this same problem. I have cute clothes, I am relatively stylish, but man, it is so much easier to wear a t-shirt, a hoodie, and jeans my entire life. And my calves are too big for skinny jeans and riding boots.

    I mean WAY too big.