Polyester is bad enough, but polyester rayon blend?
Conversation between Womb Buddy’s girlfriend, Becky, and I regarding what people wore in our middle school years:
Becky: “Oh, I never really noticed those things when I was younger- or now even.”
Me: “Ew, is there anything worse on a person, though? I mean, I’ll hang out with someone who wears cheap polyester rayon blend clothing. I’ll just make them change first.”
Probably, it’s just a hunch, but probably she hasn’t paid this much attention to what people around her are wearing just about ever. I have that affect on people. I turn what few good-hearted people are left in this world into scathing sartorial critics after hanging out with me for a mere couple of hours. It’s a fact I’m not ashamed of, and I don’t mind bad fashion or crazy fashion. No, no. I love it. I even aspire to it on occasion, because nothing, and I mean nothing, makes a statement like socks and sandals or FOB clothing. It’s visual candy for my hungry eyes.
As for poly-rayon blend garments, let’s be real, RogueRanters. I could write a whole freaking Encyclopedia on Swap Meet clothing, but the worst of all those eyesores stealing hanger space in poor unsuspecting citizens’ closets are definitely the poly-rayon blend tops all those cholas be “rocking” in the parking lots of crummy strip malls ALL OVER LA on a Friday night. You know the ones I’m talking about; the ones that highlight all those muffin tops beautifully with the awkward, clingy fabric and disgusting geometric prints. The ones that glow in the eerie light emanating from the giant Del Taco signs I know you’ve seen on your way to grab a midnight snackeroo. (This is the place one generally finds cholas, and usually they’re getting into catfights with each other, clawing each others drawn on eyebrows off.)
The only thing worse than those tops are the cheap satin pants that are cut like denim jeans, but wrinkle like linen. The satin is usually so cheap it smells like fish. Seriously, have you ever smelled those pants?
Cholas wear these pants, too, BTW, and consequently, it makes them one of the top camel-toe offender groups in the nation. Which is totally saying something, because kankle-y White Girls everywhere have been chomping at the bit for this title every since Lindsay Lohan started stomping around in those trashy leggings of hers.
Which brings me to my next comment: ew, ew, and ew.
To the world out there, reading this, thinking I’m shallow and vain and a total waste of space, you’re probably right, but if you ever learn anything from this blog, let it be this: Cotton is your friend. (Cashmere, Angora, and Linen are your richer friends.)
Thanks. Bye now, and check your labels next time. Don’t be surprised to find out that there is a little Chola lurking in your closet. Poly-rayon blend is like herpes: once it’s been unleashed upon the world, it never goes away, and you finding yourself constantly staring and shrieking in disgust at the outbreaks. Yes, that’s right, I just compared cheap poly-rayon blend to oozing sores. IT IS THAT BAD. (<— OMG. click that link. You know you want to, and trust me, you won’t regret it.)
