White is the New White

Dear Bill Cunningham,

Enough! Day after day, I have created outlandish outfits and wandered the streets, looking what can only be described as terrifyingly whimsical. I have alarmed dogs, fascinated babies, and provoked complete strangers to ask me if I am "Lady Gaga or something." Yet somehow, I always seem to escape your notice.

The week that I sewed an eighteenth century redingote out of handspun recycled Coke bottles, for example, you decided that cardigans were chic. I wear organic fair-trade linen, and it's fur. I wear fur, and it's aluminum foil. Last fall, you specifically told me to "let myself go" and have fun with color. "Release the security blanket" of black and embrace the colors of nature through your clothes, you said. I obeyed.

I had never felt more exhilirated or childishly free.

But now, Bill Cunningham, you have gone too far. White? On Memorial Day weekend?! It's insulting. Particularly when I had a perfectly good eggshell sundress picked out but thought it would strike you as too obvious.



Bill Cunningham, we're through.

I give up.

Henceforth, I will just dress like this.



Sincerely,

The Jaded Heifer

P.S. Leggings are not "stems," and shirts are not "flowers."

P.P.S. Buy a car.