Man, I miss ALL the excitement. It’s just like that time in seventh grade shop class (what? I could have taken shop. You don’t know.) I asked for a bathroom pass and when I came back Coach Bragg had cut his finger off with a band saw. Life is So Unfair.
So we’re talking about whether it’s right to bare arms, right? Good gravy. This is not a hard question. Whether you want olives or a twist in the morning’s first martini is a hard question. Whether it’s morally right to go home with guys for the sole purpose of harvesting their organs for someone you love is a hard question. If you like your arms and want to jam out with your hams out (I stole that line from somebody, but I don’t know who) then so be it. If you’d rather keep an air of mystery about them, well, cover those bad boys up and git along, little dogie.
Personally I find nothing so flattering on my figure as a three-quarter length sleeve so that’s what I wear, but if I yearned to go sleeveless and my burning desire to do so outweighed any competing urges then I’d get myself spaghetti-strapped up to high heaven and give everyone two free tickets to my own personal gun show. It might not be the most flattering but as much as I hate to say it; flattering isn’t everything and it’s dangerous to put too much value on what “other people” think.
Case in point: I just bought this pair of Marc Jacobs heels and my first thought when I saw them was “wow, those look like something you could stab Superman with. I love them.”
And I’ll tell you another thing, even though they are most definitely not to everyone’s taste, and possibly the people who Do Not Know the difference between a $600 Marc Jacobs heel and stripper shoes will say unkind things, I will look kick-you-in-the-teeth fantastic in those shoes. It’s about attitude, and if you feel as good in your tank top as I feel in my Superman-stabbing shoes, then who cares what other people say? In the immortal (although edited) words of Jack Black in High Fidelity. “F’ them, let ’em riot.”
The sad truth is there will always be people who recoil in horror when confronted with “teh fatt” just like there will always be people whose idea of heaven is a Rush album, two cases of Cool Ranch Doritos and a bong made out of a watermelon. We cannot fight them; we can only hope they eventually set themselves on fire.