Dirty little secret alert:
I really like popped collars.
I realize that the title itself immediately draws up unfortunate images of obnoxious preppy white boys, rich tennis-playing housewives, and wannabe suburban pimps,
I used to. I definitely used to. Even if I loved the proportions that they gave me, I absolutely refused to entertain the notion of wearing a pop in public.
At least intentionally.
Sometimes, though (disclaimer: this is painfully embarrassing), I'd pretend that my collar had been "accidentally" poppin'.
I'd walk around, blissfully faux-unaware, until some obnoxiously judgmental teeny bopper snarkily commented on the state of my shirt.
Then I'd be all - "Psh! Hah! Yeah! Look at me - such a badass! Ha! Ha!" as I rolled my eyes in mock sarcasm. Then I'd murmur an unconvincing "thanks", flip down the once fertile leaves of my now derelict collar, and suffer the defeat that is social conformity.
But no more, my friends! No more!
And though this collar may more closely resemble a chef's than a prep's, this very shirt is old enough that it was once itself the victim of my self doubt.
Look how victorious it looks. Risen from the ashes and repelling potential suiters world over.
Just as it was born to.
|shirt: mom's old, skirt: UO, boots: ebay vintage, ring: Karen London Jewelry Congo Ring|
Don't you just love fulfilled potential?