When my husband and I went to Las Vegas, I pushed inhibitions and protocol aside and wore a dress so short that I had to be careful when I raised my arms. Blame it on Vegas. I mean it.
Read Whole Story
As I sit on the bus in my striped fur Yves Salomon jacket, leggings with the knees ripped out, shod in bright red Bernhard Willhelm sandals and a smirk, I'm happily giving father time the finger, at least today. Ladies, I hope you all do the same.
They were not rebels. They didn't bring their clothing with them illicitly, tight skirts folded neatly and tucked into handbags. That would have been more understandable, almost more acceptable.
Get top stories and blog posts emailed to me each day. Newsletters may offer personalized content or advertisements. Learn more.