Age, grace, and so on.

Dearest Northerner,

I apologize for stepping out of turn, and writing to you before hearing news from your part of the world, but I wanted to chat quickly, and if I write you, I can trick myself into thinking you are in my living room for a quick visit. Thoughts today have turned to fashion. I am wondering if there is slight imprinting that happens during adolescence that defines our sense of style? At that age I was hyper aware of what looked good, better, and best. Now I tend to have a stronger sense of what doesn’t look atrocious. I have a harder time figuring out what a possible personal look could even be, and instead rely on the old notions from my nineteen-year-old-self. Which is now hopelessly out of date. I also can’t show cleavage. When I am wearing something I imagine to be thrillingly low-cut, I see it in a picture and it is, well, prudish or worse, sporty.

On another note, have you seen the poster for The Women remake? Meg Ryan scares me lots. More soon.

I’ll see if I can dig up a picture for your viewing pleasure. Hope it works below:

Her expression suggests...ringlets? Ingenue? Crazy woman caught in a crazy world? Or, as Liz Lemon would say, "blurgh" and therefore, overall blurghiness.