A camera crew crashes the birthday party and all eyes are set on me. I start to panic at the idea of being on “Cops”-even though the worst offense I have received was a blue slip in the fourth grade for kicking a boy, who butted in line.
I realize that, in fact, the crew of “Cops” is not chasing me. It’s something much more terrifying. It’s the fashion police.
Stacey London and Clinton Kelley from TLC’s “What Not To Wear” put their arms around me and give that smirk to my family and friends that lets everyone know that they have found their next victim. I’m about to be handed a Visa Check Card with my name on it. Of course, I would have to agree to hand over my entire wardrobe. But, as I go to grab my golden ticket, it evaporates into thin air.
And then I wake up.
“What Not To Wear,” a prototypical makeover show that airs Fridays nights on TLC, is actually a spin off the original “What Not To Wear” on the BBC. People transform from wearing tacky Christmas sweaters and neon tracksuits to form-fitting blazers and little black dresses. Hairdresser Nick Arrojo tames heads covered in massive, natty curls and hair pulled into greasy ponytails. The finishing product is reflected in a long mirror, followed by a welcome home, you-are-pretty-again party.
But it isn’t this beautiful transformation from cheap to chic that impresses me most. It isn’t the snappy and snarky comments from Stacey and Clinton as they dissect and judge their fashion victims’ wardrobes. It isn’t the embarrassing secret footage or the 360-degree mirror that reveals the worst angles of these victims’ ill-fitting outfits. It’s not even about the shopping, the shoes, the handbags or the stylista tips.
No, I love “What Not To Wear” because the deluded subjects on this show actually believe that their brown and mustard tweed jackets are classic vintage that, for some reason, should still be considered “in.” In actuality, you should pack away that jacket with the rest of your platform shoes and ’70s memorabilia.
I love the women who honestly think it is OK to wear pumps that light up in the heel every time they take a step. I love the women who wear pumps that we were once forced to wear in grade schools with our plaid and uniform shirts.
I find it entertaining that women believe it is okay to own shirts that are cut almost all the way down to their belly button, leaving America to see an amount of cleavage that is best left to those professionals working the pole in strip clubs.
People need to realize that the ’80s are long gone, and the clothing is gone for a reason. And even though I understand that it is fun to hold on to that precious spandex, Members Only jackets and everything neon in case of one or those rare theme parties your friends throw on occasions, it is not okay to wear them in public. Anyone who does know this person, please send them to this show for a serious intervention.
I can only imagine what it is like to be handed $5,000 and told to go spend money in New York City for two days. But, until then, I can only judge others for wearing tacky Christmas sweaters, overalls or flooded khakis.
Windmills of My Mind is a column written by a different contributor every week on memories about a film, book, play, song, or piece of art. Interested in writing one? E-mail the editor at [email protected].
