Zara, You Tease

Zara is like that narcissistic jerk who you always manage to convince yourself is just really damaged deep in his core (mommy issues & such) and needs to be saved, preferably by you. So, you keep returning to him in the hopes that with enough fondling and misguided sexual attention, he will change.

Though he continues to look frustratingly appealing on the surface, his intentions and general character traits usually turn out to be set in stone (the stone being his sick, twisted, and, thus, sexy brain). But, like a good addict, you continue to return, always intrigued by the newest iterations of his toxic and duplicitous behavior.

The point I’m trying to make in a seriously roundabout way is that, when the New Year began (like three days ago) I vowed to stop impulse buying, to invest only in well-made clothing, and rid myself of all the excess crap I’ve accumulated. And then, like clockwork, Zara dropped another one of its consistently spot-on lookbooks and had me drooling at the computer wondering how they knew I wanted this, this, and this before I even did? Visions of a more-perfect life flashed before my eyes, as is often the case with materialism. If only I could lounge nonchalantly in sheer black tones and sandals straight out of a mom-from-Vermont’s closet, preferably near oversized greenery, my life would certainly be a good 50% more ideal.



And that hair—that goddamn hair. Tousled in that enticing way that connotes ease and non-effort…which means it would probably take me a good hour or two to replicate it.







Though almost all of my Zara purchases admittedly get lots of wear once I buy them (rendering them not entirely wasteful in the vein of pretty much everything I’ve ever bought from H&M) I am going to hold back my silly sartorial desires for the time being as best as I can. Hannukah, Christmas, and my birthday having just passed, I think I can probably handle putting a long pause on my spontaneous clothing consumption.

If I’m feeling uninspired I could always ask my more conscious friend Lauren (who works at equally-conscious site Zady) to tell me about all the bad energy I’m putting into the world by caving in to these Celine-vibe-without-the-pricetag garments. And there’s always world news to put you in your place when the dollar-sign emblazoned face of your most superficial self rears its ugly head in an effort to convince you that life without that minimalist sheath is the ultimate struggle.

“One love, first world, etc.” – drops mic.

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