Aberrance Quarterly Virginia - Vol II, Issue I

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SUMMER 2014 I S S U E V / / P E N N S Y LVA N I A + V I R G I N I A



71569 MEIL AN SOLLY After losing her family in Holocaust concentration camps, Anita


EVERYDAY AMAZON SARAH ROHLEDER Grow where you are planted.

shares her sur vival story.







Local burlesque troop brands themselves as a variety show where

A style guide by Brigid Neary.

the performers encompass as much variety as the acts.







Wrist bling available at J. Crew & watch from Anne Klein


6 Staff // Issue no. 5


High school and college students produce and fund Aberrance Quarterly throughout the country. To donate or advertise in one of AQ’s distribution states, email us at aberrancequarterly@ gmail. All our love and cheers to a blissful summer, chic feminists.


Alexandra Zenner [Editor-in-Chief] Mikala Morrow [Photo Director] Chance Easter [Photographer] Emily Romero [Stylist] Colette Holman [Writer] Kendall Eckman [Social Correspondent] Taylor Abrams [Social Correspondent] Madison Ybarra [Local Marketer] Muna Hamedi [Local Marketer]


Cienna Fernandez [Editor-in-Chief] Kelly Robb [Managing Editor] Maddie Mansperger [Creative Director] Lauren Click [Local Marketing Director] Trace Langely [Social Correspondent] Jamie Cohen [Writer] Mallory Hayhurst [Writer] Jenna Mansperger [Writer] Isabella Hulsizer [Writer] Rayann Galindo [Photographer] Zi Yang Lai [Photographer] Alex Singh [Photographer]



Alexa Pence [Editor-in-Chief] Ashley Burkett [Managing Editor] Brigid Neary [Creative Director] Sarah Rohleder [Copy Director] Yazmin Martinez [Photo Director] Gabby Torres [Social Correspondent] Megan Wilde [Creative Director of Fashion] Steve Squall [Fashion Photographer] Andrew Spalding [Design Director] Josh Svoboda [Designer] Greer Schneider [Designer] Jahne Brown [Copy Editor] Riley Head [Copy Editor] Nadia Almasalkhi [Copy Editor]

Georgia Lela Johnson [Editor-in-Chief] Nathan Blansett [Managing Editor] Savannah Smith [Social Correspondent] Sydney Coleman [Copy Editor] Kira Donaldson [Social Correspondent] Maria Crosswell [Social Correspondent] JD Capelouto [Fashion Director] Rian Archer [Fashion Photographer] Jianna Justice [Stylist] Erin Ernst [Writer]

Special Thanks: Stephanie Kertis Jan Winter Gill Holland Amanda Halle Ildiko Florian Solly Anli Solly Gayle Martin Craig & Marianna Dodson Kathy Cannon Karen Skees

Pennsylvania Katelynn Walker [Editor-in-Chief] Katelyn Matsko [Creative Director] Sean Walsh [Photo Director] Bethany Bowser [Writer] Madisen Querns [Writer] Jaeci Simmons [Writer] Mikayla Corrigan [Writer] Sarah Toyos [Photographer] Becka Turner [Photographer]

Virginia Kevin Nguyen [Editor-in-Chief] Audrey Villanueva [Editor-in-Chief] Meilan Solly [Managing Editor] Francisco Flores [Photo Director] Emmel El-Fiky [Writer] Danielle Matta [Writer] Kimberly Daliagon [Writer] Sharon Shatananda [Writer] Madeline Swank [Writer] Joanne Kim [Writer] Aiden Orr [Writer] Gabby Evidente [Photographer]

Elda and Donald Holdren Eric and Loragene Walker Sarah Rogers Connie Smith McQuaide Blasko Dorsey Houtz Your Gym Closet Bobbie Salvaterra Querns Family

P.18 Va Va Variety.


569 A nita Schorr’s account of the Holocaust

Story by Meilan Solly | Photo courtesy of Anita Schorr

12 Feature // Issue no. 5

The line trudged forward, bringing Anita Schorr closer to Dr. Josef Mengele. She was fourteen years old, standing between countless women equally emaciated, but closer to the eighteen years she claimed to be. Her heart pounded madly as she strained to hide her underdeveloped body while processing the horror of the last several minutes: separation from her mother and brother, with no certainty of ever seeing them again. She reached the front of the line, in front of Mengele’s hard glare. With a wave of his hand, he decided her fate. For now, at least, she would survive. I met Anita Schorr in 2007. Eleven years old at the time, I was keenly and morbidly fascinated by the Holocaust, elated by this chance to meet one of the individuals who had actually lived through it. True to character, however, I found myself at a loss for words once actually seated on the porch of Anita’s upscale Westport, Connecticut home. The lunch discussion turned to lighter topics. One memory of that day, however, remains seared in my mind. Seared is the appropriate word in this case, as

my most vivid recollection focuses on five numbers etched into Anita’s arm: 71569. The numbers are remnants of Anita’s time at Auschwitz-Birkenau -- a new identity chosen by the Nazis and permanently engraved onto her body. They are neither the most shocking part of her story, nor the most important. Yet as small as those tattooed numbers were, both in reality and the context of the story, they seemed representative. Hidden within those numbers were memories unimaginable to anyone who hadn’t lived them. On August 11, 1930, Fritz and Stela Pollak celebrated the birth of their first child, a girl named Anita. Anita’s childhood was defined by happy memories: playing the piano, drawing maps with her friend Ilse, and adventures with her brother Michal. But in 1939, the Nazi regime invaded Anita’s homeland of Czechoslovakia. Under Hitler’s totalitarian regime, European Jews’ freedom completely disintegrated. Anita was no longer allowed to attend school. She couldn’t go to the parks or the cinema, and she was forced to wear a yellow star inscribed with the label Juden. “When the occu-

pying army came, my whole childhood was finished,” Anita said. Imbued with distaste, nineyear-old Anita wrote a letter to Hitler demanding answers for his nonsensical discrimination. “One day my teacher tells us why school is obligatory and that everyone needs to receive an education. The next day I am no longer allowed in class. I do not carry any diseases. Why are my friends avoiding me? What did you tell them?” she asked. After addressing the letter, Anita handed it to her father and left the room. Anita never received a response to her letter, and over the next several years, she continued to face the dissolution of her once-simple life. At age eleven, Anita and her immediate family were transported to Terezin, home of the Theresienstadt ghetto/ concentration camp. As with many other camps, conditions at Theresienstadt were beyond inhumane. Filth was inescapable; bedbugs and lice were constant companions. “How do you explain that there was such a horrible smell, that we lived in such stench that it smelled like an open grave?” Anita asked.



14 Feature // Issue no. 5

Meals were sparse and scarce, leav- was made. All able-bodied inmates ing inmates with just enough ener- between the ages of eighteen and gy to bring them to the next meal. fifty must sign up to go to work It was, in Anita’s words, “a vicious camps in Germany. Those who circle.” The lack of food affected remained would face a decidedly every aspect of Anita’s life. Without darker fate than forced labor. Anita it, Anita was constantly freezing was fourteen at the time, but her and unable to think straight. She mother pushed her and said, “Tell poignantly recalled her mother’s them you are eighteen. Go. You are despair when her brother, Mistrong. You can make it.” chal, was eight or nine years old. He looked at their mother said, “I’m so hungry.” All their mother “...SHE TURNED could do was stand there, tears rolling down her cheek at the AROUND AND TOOK sight of her desperate, starving child. “You cannot measure hunger because it’s totally consuming. MY LIT TLE BROTHER You turn into an animal. Like an BY HIS HAND AND animal, all you can think about is [getting] the next fix, the next food,” she said. SHE WALKED AWAY.” In 1943, Anita’s family was transported to the Holocaust’s most infamous death camp, Auschwitz-Birkenau. Here stood the striking arch bearing the words Arbeit Macht Frei: “work makes you free”. The same sign could be found at Theresienstadt, but here, in the camp where the Nazis would kill over 1.1 million people, mainly Jews, its message was resoundingly ironic. One day, an announcement

“I turned to her and [asked], ‘Why don’t you come with me?’ And she said, ‘I cannot leave your little brother. He will forget his name and we will never find him.’ She turned around and took my little brother by his hand and she walked away.” That was the last time Anita saw her mother and brother. She ached

with distress, feeling as if her mother abandoned her, because at the time, she could not have known her mother’s words would save her. Michal and Anita’s mother were sent to the death chambers, Anita to selection with Dr. Mengele. In selection, Anita queued behind other women attempting to move from Auschwitz to the work camps. She stood in front of Dr. Mengele, engineer of some of the Holocaust’s most twisted human experiments, and waited for him to decide her fate: work camp or the gas chambers. Anita passed selection. “It was a frightening thing because we knew by the wave of his hand you either lived or you didn’t live,” she said. “Can you imagine that? No. It’s unimaginable. And it shouldn’t be imaginable.” Immediately after selection, Anita met a female SS officer who offered a glimpse of humanity amongst the otherwise inescapable brutality. After the shock of the last several minutes, Anita found herself sobbing hysterically. The SS officer took her into another room and comforted her, reminding Anita that work camp was a far better op-


tion than the gas chambers. While at work camps in the Hamburg area, Anita met a Wermacht soldier -- drafted as opposed to volunteer SS soldiers -- who showed unusual kindness. He had once been a French professor at a local university, and every day he shared part of his sandwich with her. The soldier asked Anita what she would like for her birthday. She answered: a chance to swim in the ocean. On her birthday, Anita’s wish was granted. She and the soldier walked to the ocean, and Anita dove in. Before long, she could see the outline of houses on the other side of the shore. They reminded Anita that freedom was within her reach, but because of her promise to the soldier that she would not attempt to escape, Anita simply returned to the camp. “I didn’t know his name, and I never saw him afterwards,” Anita said. “This is how it happens in life with giving and doing good things. You will do a good deed when the moment is there…and almost never the same person is going to do something wonderful for you.” In February 1945, the regime

relocated Anita again, this time to Bergen-Belsen. Her stay there was short—British Armed Forces arrived in April to liberate the camp. Following liberation, Anita searched for news of her family, finally receiving word that her father was alive and would meet her soon. The meeting never took place. Anita learned that her father fell victim to a death march, a long trek across freezing countryside designed to exterminate remaining prisoners and, with them, evidence of Nazi atrocities. At age fifteen, Anita was the last surviving member of her family. For years after the Holocaust, Anita did not share her story. She moved to a home for orphans, joined the Zionist underground Haganah army and went to Palestine, where she lived in a kibbutz with her first husband. Then, in 1959, Anita moved to America with her husband and young son Odie. But it was not until twenty years ago, after a visit to the newly opened United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, that Anita finally opened up. “I saw that they had screens with survivors telling their stories and I thought, ‘I have to do this. I just have to do it,’” Anita said.

Anita tells her story to share a message she hopes will prevent an atrocity like the Holocaust from ever happening again. She explained, “Don’t be a bystander. Because if you don’t do something right at the very beginning, these things can mushroom into such a horror story as the Holocaust. You have to make a commitment to yourself that you will step in and be a hero when you see injustice done….You have a responsibility to step in. This is not just if you feel like it, fine, if you don’t – no. It’s always your responsibility to step in if you see injustice.” After the Holocaust, Anita chose never to be a bystander. She discussed and continues to discuss her experience in the concentration camps, despite the personal sorrow it causes her. She has also worked with author Marion A. Stahl to produce a book, entitled Anita, detailing her experience. It is time to learn from Anita. It is impossible for anyone today to prevent the Holocaust and other genocides of the past, but it is possible to change society’s twisted ownership over women. In the words of Anita, “step in and be a hero.”

16 Everyday Amazon // Issue no. 5


WHERE YOU’R Column Two: What is an Amazon to do when her personal goals conflict with her goals for women? Story & Design by Sarah Rohleder

When I grow up, I want to be a teacher. I plan to teach English and History to high school students whose hormones supercede their grammar. Could I take out loans to spend extra years at UofL, collecting English and History degrees until I can teach at a college level? Yes. Am I settling? I am not sure. I face a problem. I know there is a disproportionately large amount of female teachers at the high 1 school level and below , and likewise, a disproportionately low level of female professors at the college level2 , but I don’t know if I am the person to move toward closing that gap. My dedication to moving women forward seems

to conf lict with the rest of my plans. I want to be a wife and mother more than I want to spend time in school and grade 100 college-

“MY DEDICATION TO MOVING WOMEN FORWARD SEEMS TO CONFLIC T WITH THE REST OF MY PLANS.“ level papers in a weekend. No, it is not because I am born and

raised in Kentucky, and it is not even because I belong to a Christian church. It is not because of my relationship with my mother, nor my relationship with any guy (I don’t even have a boyfriend). It is simply what I want. I am a settled sort of person — a feisty, spontaneous settled sort of person, but settled nonetheless. I take care of all my friends and family however I can, and I have already nailed that motherly, you-are-in-bigtrouble glare. I live by a wellkept agenda — because I would probably die without it — and I never get to that pilates workout I continuously buy cute workout clothes for. In between two or three jobs, ministry work, and journalism, my free time consists of a short stop by my favorite

1 http://nces.ed.gov/fastfacts/display.asp?id=28 2 http://iwl.rutgers.edu/documents/njwomencount/Faculty%20Diversity-3.pdf



’RE PL ANTED coffee shop to unwind and scroll through Top Ten lists on Buzzfeed. I am an 18-year-old woman with today’s standards of a 30-year-old’s goals, and I am just fine with that. But does my own desire to do all of those things and forego professoring negate my goals to forward women in predominantly male career fields? I do not think so. No one taught me about this gender discrepancy in the education field until college, when I had already chosen a career path that did not include closing the gap. As a high school teacher, I can inspire young women who have otherwise never been encouraged to fill those fields -- young women

who have been boxed into career choices such as elementary school teacher, nurse, receptionist, or stay-at-home mom (all of which are admirable options too, by the way). I struggled to decide how to proceed in my own education, because I was not sure how I wanted to inf luence future women’s education. “Would an Everyday Amazon disregard the discrepancy?” I asked myself, before deciding to reread my first column. It reminded me: an Everyday Amazon makes any situation a chance to progress women. I do not have to be the woman who fills the gap in order to move

women forward in predominantly male fields. I can make the decision to teach hundreds of young women that they can minimize that discrepancy, where I would not be able to if I were a professor. As a professor, I would take one step toward change, but as a teacher, I can inf luence hundreds of steps. An Everyday Amazon grows where she is planted — or where she plants herself. A high school teacher taught me that.



Story by Ashley Burkett & Sarah Rohleder | Design by Sarah Rohleder | Photos by Yazmin Martinez The Louisville burlesque troop brands itself as a variety show where the performers encompass as much variety as the acts.



* The names in this piece reflect onlythe stage names of the performers. She lifted her body to mold in the form of the lyra hoop above. Years of training and hidden muscles carried her body through the act. Her refined talent overshadowed her less-refined skin. At 62 years old, Momma Red performed an aerial show with the Va Va Vixens burlesque club. Momma Red is not supernatural. She is disciplined, and she has been around the block a time or two -- the burlesque block, that is. She is fully capable—and graceful—gliding above the stage. Louisville’s own Va Va Vixens, pride themselves on setting a standard of

empowerment, not just sex appeal. Their shows feature more than just fanned out feathers and slips that are predestined to slide off. The Christina Aguilerian portrayal would solicit

“JUST BECAUSE I AM A CERTAIN WAY DOESN’ T MAKE ME ANY LESS OF A WOMAN.” glares at their all-inviting club. Much like their audience of eighteen to eighty, the group of ­women, and men, transcends age, race, and body type.

Some acts send the crowd into roaring laughter, some feature dancers who use their arms on the ground rather than legs, and of course, others return to the sultry essence of burlesque with strip tease. Momma Red got her start in aerial acrobatics with Louisville’s Turner’s Circus, where her children grew up hooping, trapezing, and bending. Her daughter pressed her to learn the talent so they could perform together. She first took the stage with the Vixens for the swinging ladders act, where she partnered with her son’s fiancee. Her son also partook in the act, pulling the pair’s rope. The practice enthralled Red’s entire immediate family.


Momma Red fell sick for a period of time, and set her art aside, but her muscle memory did not fail her when she recovered and returned to the Vixen stage — or rather, the air overhead. “Now I’m coming back to show that women, of all ages, can do anything,” she said. Lady Phoenix embodies the Vixen’s avowed standard of variety. Her athletic build hints at her talent as the B-Girl, or female breakdancer, of the group. She is no taller than 5’4 and appears to have less than two percent body fat. “Allowing me, a hip hop breakdancer onto the crew, and making that burlesque, completely pushes limits,” she said. Phoenix’s 20-plus years of ballet and jazz dance training pair with her breakdancing skills to create a fluid and graceful, but boyish act. Though she does not fit the mold of a socially-defined, feminine woman, she feels her tennis shoes aren’t any less feminine than stilettos. “I consider myself of more of a ‘tomboy,’ Phoenix said. “Just because I am a certain way doesn’t make me any less of a woman.” Madame Michon has a short pixie cut and noticeable hair growing from

underneath her arms and on her steely calves. She traded the feathers and sequins for a sports bra and compression shorts, but had no problem owning her femininity. However, she had not always been able to do so. “If you told me 5 years ago that I would be performing with a burlesque group I would not believe you,” Michon said.

“IF YOU TOLD ME FIVE YEARS AGO THAT I WOULD BE PERFORMING WITH A BURLESQUE GROUP I WOULD NOT BELIEVE YOU.” Prior to her performing gig with the Vixens, Michon was the technician at the their old venue. She ran the lights and the sound that completed the overall look to the show. At the time, Michon was injured and walk-

ing around with a cane. “I kept telling them that I can do what everyone else is doing [acrobatics],” Michon said. “I healed up and showed them.” Michon showed the group her acrobatic capabilities. As a physically strong woman, she only wanted to perform aerial routines, but soon, she mastered the strip tease—and the difference between mascara and eyeliner. “I was not in touch with my feminine side,” Michon said. “I don’t wear heels, I was not familiar with makeup or lingerie. I don’t shave except for when I perform. I have embraced and learned to love and enjoy my feminine side. I have learned not only how to walk in high heels, but to dance in them.” Va Va Vixens brought out one more quality in Michon — and every other member of the group: confidence with a capital V. Vixens and Art Sanctuary owner, Lisa Frye attested to the troupe’s individuals’ growth, “It brings me more joy than anything in my life. . . .They grow so much in confidence from the time that they start to when they get up on the stage. You’ll see, you can feel it in the room,” Frye said. “It gives you nothing but strength and courage.”




A style guide by Brigid Neary. Story by Brigid Neary | Design by Sarah Rohleder | Photos by Alexa Pence

New York City: In a city of eight million, there are pods of people who share the same tastes, trends that fan across the city, legions of people making the same fashion choices. Check the Style page in the New York Times every Sunday to see what I mean. If your style doesn’t fit into one burrough, just go a borough over. Not that you should confrom to social norms, but it could help. In a city of one million it’s easier to stand out, for good or bad. I don’t have street style paparazzi looking to add me to their most recent article, but an outfit can pack a pretty powerful punch and it confuses the social expectation. No one can exemplify this more than Carrie in Sex and the City. Carrie doesn’t care what anyone else thinks. You see, I have a thing for Sex and the City. Few things bring me more comfort than curling up under my comforter and binging on my favorite pastimes: The Man Repeller blog and Sex and the City. The assumption would be that these two things are radically different, but upon closer inspection, the parallels are infinite. Both inspire the confidence to walk my city like it’s Runway A at Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week. I spend my weekday mornings waking up slowly while following the escapades of Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda and Samantha as they poke around all corners of the Big Apple. It wasn’t so much the sex though that I was interested in ­— after all, I hadn’t even been kissed when I became a devotee. I was hooked by the way I could feel the characters’ confidence through the screen every time they strutted down the street sporting a new

pair of Manolo Blahniks. Maybe it was the infamously jaded personality of New York City as a whole, but when they were in public dressed to the nines, no one seemed to think anything of it. It was almost like an unspoken expectation—that to consider yourself a viable member of the island, you would spend unprecedented amounts of your paycheck on a label-heavy wardrobe. In every season, my characters molted their seasonal skin in favor of a trendier option, from luxurious furs to a summery pair of strappy sandals to a gregarious tulle skirt. I compared their life in a city of over 8 million to mine of a humbler 1 million. Still nothing to laugh about, but no kind of population to carry the status needed to pull stores like Bergdorf’s or Niemen Marcus or even the more casual American Apparel. My city is no longer only synonymous with fast horses, but its fashion taste for my demographic would still fit in comfortably at the Kentucky Derby. Think Lilly Pulitzer. Not to mention, Vineyard Vines-patterned taxis and Bean Boot-shaped vehicles f lood the highways on the first weekend in May. Both labels are lovely and have a presence in cities like New York, but mostly in the concentrated volume of the Hamptons within the respected window of Memorial to Labor Day. Sitting in the recently opened El Camino restaurant, I peoplewatched and found myself taking notes. It seemed as if New York

City fashion had found a new home in Louisville. During the summer, every person from every corner of the 16th geographically largest city in the US parades down Bardstown Road. The neighborhood has almost become a cliche for its notable eccentricity, and with that — its uniquely Louisvillian style. In a city where unbearable humidity meets 90-degree temps on the regular, people have discovered a mesh of functional and weather appropriate style that would make Greenwich village proud.

“MAYBE IT WAS . . . NEW YORK CIT Y AS A WHOLE, BUT WHEN THEY WERE IN PUBLIC DRESSED TO THE NINES, NO ONE SEEMED TO THINK ANY THING OF IT.” Carrie’s composure did not feel so out of place anymore. Like the bourbon microbreweries that keep popping up, Louisvillians have pumped my city with a fresh fashion revival. My home in Louisville may coat itself in Lilly from time to time, but it can rock a rad pair of Birkenstocks and socks too. My home is quite the gem.


WHITE OXFORD How to: Wear a white oxford.

FIRST THINGS FIRST: CHOOSE THE RIGHT WHITE OXFORD White oxfords are a staple in the wardrobes of preppy Americans and waitresses alike. A piece so simple and yet almost never discarded as blasé appears to do no wrong. It can be dressed up, worn down, paired with jeans, or worn without pants like Tom Cruise in Risky Business. I find my own oxford on heavy rotation. I get my oxford from the men’s section of the store. The fit of a men’s shirt allows for more movability with the added bonus of looking effortlessly cool. The darting in a woman’s blouse

seldom looks properly tailored, and at the moment, my income doesn’t afford tailoring. But alas! The wizards of the marketing world realized women need space to breath in their shirts as well and gifted us the boyfriend cut, which is also a valid option. Also, when investing in your oxford, opt for a style without a logo. It can be distracting, especially when you are pairing it in a more dressed up context.

The first look I’m going to wear is with a mini skirt and scarf. I will take the now infamous oxford and forget how to button it. That leaves me with one skirt and one top that isn’t closing. But alas! I am inventive so I decide to stuff the ends of said oxford in the skirt. I like the

way it looks when it crosses like a wrap dress. I put some Supergas on my feet with a nice sole that are almost like a cooler version of a heel. P.S. if you have plans after school or work you can wear this because you probably won’t look half bad.


The second look is for places of work. Even though you might be trapped in a cubicle pushing papers or sitting in the library studying for a test that you just aren’t feeling, you can at least look like you have your ducks in a row. The oxford would be buttoned half way up and you would choose necklaces to peep out underneath. Pop your collar

to let people know you mean business. Next, pair a nice blazer on top. Don’t worry about the stress of putting your arms through the holes though because you look cooler with it perched on your shoulders anyway. Put some goofy pants on your bottom half (or just jeans) and you are ready to go.



ALTER BEEGO What would you wear if you were a cartoon?

I recently saw an article on my favorite fashion blog The Man Repeller that spurred an internal discussion: What would you wear if you were a cartoon character? The question really made me think. Did I want to be so easily defined by what I was wearing? Could I pare down my closet to less than five articles of clothing? I decided to do the activity to find out. When I used to watch cartoons as a kid, I loved when Dexter opened up his closet to reveal a plethora of identical lab coats. I envied that Arnold had enough confidence to wear the same plaid shirt tied around his waist without caring that people probably thought he was unsanitary. I also thought it was awesome that due to their lack of change, Daphne and Fred always had perfectly knotted ascots. Being a cartoon looks ch iiiiiiiiic*. But their idiosyncrasies transcended more than appearance. For example, Velma always delivered the perfect “Zoinks!” to every situation. I knew even though The Gang had a monster running after them, she would always be the same reliable gal. Another example is a less stylish Squidward, who stayed grounded and realistic when SpongeBob brought up silly scenarios, and put them into perspective. You’re probably thinking, “But how does this pertain to literally anything I deal with on a daily basis?” Well, I’ll tell you. It is because you are a character. Maybe you don’t have a T V show playing lukewarm reruns throughout the day, but you are probably becoming a cliche at this very moment. But you know, the good kind.

So let us now begin the construction of what will hypothetically become my second skin. The first piece of the outfit would be the shoes. I would choose a pair of nice, brown, leather loafers because those things never go out of style. Also, if there is some kind of loophole and I can use my cartoon husband’s closet, maybe we can trade and

“WHEN I USED TO WATCH CARTOONS AS A KID, I LOVED WHEN DEXTER OPENED UP HIS CLOSET TO REVEAL A PLETHORA OF IDENTICAL COATS.” he can do the chic old man look and I can do the whole unisex thing. The next part of this outfit would be my pants. I would choose a trusty pair of J.Brand, ankle biter jeans. This classic piece could look either dressed up or down. Next is the top. I would pair a tasteful button up with a sweater. I think the sweater would be navy blue and made by J.Crew. The button up would be Gap because they are a great basic. Not the Starbucks kind of basic, but the I-could-build-on-this basic. This is where the outfit would get crazy. I could wear the pair in the classic format of sweater fitting nicely over the collared shirt. Casual, but in that academic prep

kind of way. You could also do it in a very Ralph Lauren format and pop your collar with the sweater slung across your shoulders. People might say I look like a tool, but they will simultaneously be jealous that they don’t have the #swag to wear it (vomit in my mouth about #swag but it pertained nicely to said comment). You could also take note from the cartoon greats like the aforementioned Arnold and wear the sweater slung low around your hips. As far as what archetype I would probably fall under, I think that it would be on the note of Dariah complete with dry witty humor. There would at least be something endearing about it. Maybe she would learn lessons from it? Yes, I think that she would have to. . In the end I decided that, yes, I do think that I would like to be that easily defined. I think that it allows you to have so much confidence when you wake up and know yourself. You can clearly know your strengths as well as your weaknesses, and you know how to make the best of both. Unless something catastrophic were to happen, you would probably be able to stay away from any degree of an existential crisis. Plus, if you ever fell into financial trouble, you could always adapt your character into mediocre television and possibly make millions! *Winnie the Pooh needs some costume adjusting. It always perplexed me that there was such a double standard as to who was required to wear pants and who wasn’t. And why are Pluto and Goofy both dogs, but Pluto is relegated to pet status, while Goofy wears clothes and speaks humanly? And why don’t Donald, Daffy, and Daisy Duck wear pants? Ugh.




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