In case you haven't heard me mention it, I've been watching a lot of Sex in the City lately. I'd say I've been watching too much, but hey, you can never get enough of a good thing.
Let's face it, Sex in the City is HBO's gift to woman. The creme de la creme. The culmination of all things womanhood. ALLLLLL THINGS.
Anyway, last Friday night a friend invited me out for drinks at The Bungalow. I was fresh off a day of work at Anthro when I got the text. Meeaaaaning I was wearing my cropped flair denim pants (essentially culottes) some funky looking shoes, and my signature beret. I felt cute, but not the kind of cute that wants to be seen out at one of the hottest bars in town on a Friday night. However, I live in Long Beach, and Lord knows I wasn't about to drive allllll the way home to change my outfit.
If I wanted to go I had to show up. Culottes and all.
I wanted to go, so I texted Samantha to get my outfit approved. Just in case.
Samantha's response, "would Carrie Bradshaw wear that outfit to a bar? Yes, she would. Therefore, it is perfectly acceptable for you to wear that outfit to a bar."
A new sense of empowerment came over me immediately upon receiving her text. I realized then that I can be the Carrie Bradshaw of my own life. (I knew consuming hours and hours and hours of Sex and the City mindlessly was someday going to be used to my benefit.)
I walked into the bar that night and I was surrounded by a sea of girls wearing the exact same outfit. And then there was me. The girl in the beret. Party of one. Sticking out like a sore thumb, annnnd kind of loving it.
The moral of the story is that we can wear whatever the hell we want out to a bar on a Friday night, and we should. The funkier the better.
We can all be as fabulous as Carrie Bradshaw. We just have to choose to be.