Uh-oh, I'm wearing it again - the onesie. The Norwegian Original. This time for shopping downtown, not frolicking in the woods like a dork,
here. (In my defense, I was delusional under the influence of Justin Bieber at the time. Not true. I'm just always like that.) And look, another one-piece in the woods:
Is it a playsuit? No. A jumpsuit? Nunh. It's a hundreds-of-psychedelic-flowers-are-blooming-all-over-my-electric-body energy glove, never a suit! Worn with my D&G pony shoes, balding on the toe like a beloved plush toy, although I wouldn't sleep with my shoes or cuddle them when I'm unwell. The heels are getting worn too from clicking them together and muttering, there's no place like New York, there's no place like New York.
To be praaactical many might call this a jumpsuit, although there's nothing practical about a delicate rear zip in a vintage one-piece. Sure, if we want to be praaactical, let's just call this a HOPFABAOMEB-EG for short. Snort (
as in laugh, not cocaine, my twisted friends). I feel like giving birth to a thousand butterflies when I wear this. Okay, ow. Let's just stop the imagery right there. Moving right along...
Usually I tell my clothes what they are. Are you pyjamas? No. You are swishy-silky-daydreams for shopping in. Are you a tool box? No. You are a magical vessel full of potential riches in both spirit and cash. Unless I can't find my magical vessel, at which point it becomes, Where's my fecking purse!!
Using regular names for things can be useful. If I went to a shop and said, "Do you have any hundreds-of-psychedelic-flowers-are-blooming-all-over-my-electric-body energy gloves," like a smartass, I'd probably get a sneer and snide, "No, lady, we don't."
(Sneer and Snide - sounds like a water park or a cartoon duo)
Unless you're Corey Mah at retailer Holt Renfrew, who might just say, "Oh yes, I certainly do! Follow me." He's an art school grad after all. But he would be a rare exception. Even rarer would be that I drop $800 to buy said HOPFABAOMEB-EG, even marked down from $3000.
This is an outtake from my original
red onesie shoot, oops, I mean my celebrity-red-rocket-body-casing-of-perverse-pleasure!! In Stanley Park.
Today's ensemble featured lighthouse hair, green shaggy boots instead of runners, and a man robe off and on because it was chilly. I deleted the concrete box - so boooring. As I said before, nobody, absolutely nobody wears onesies in Vancouver. It mystifies; it's such a slackeriffic garment. How do you wear a onesie over 50? Uh, you just put it on. Doh.
Pao of
Project Minima had a brilliant idea to wear one green boot and one black since I have these boots in both colours. I love that. Another day.
How's your magical vessel? Bwahaha. Snort.
