The Long and Shortall of It 



Summer officially here, and I’m ready to bust out my shortalls. What’s that, they died with the ’90s? Hmm, well that’s unfortunate because I have four pairs.

Yeah, they make me look like a kid—I admit it. And there’s no great way to store them (Do you hang them up? Do you fold them into an odd lump? I still haven’t found a method that works). Often they are too baggy in the butt or too tight in the crotch, with never a happy medium in sight unless you’re willing to do some extensive altering on your own.


Honestly, you have to go out of your way to even find a pair. It’s inconvenient. Start at the thrift store, but once you’re through the doors, where does one even begin looking?

The miles of jeans stretching the length of the store? The shorts section? Perhaps the seasonal rack, where only the most bizarre, vaguely classified as “warm weather” clothing is grouped? It’s practically impossible. So when you do find a pair, you hang on to it with clenched fists—even if it’s cherry red and the legs are flared. You didn’t even know flared shorts existed.

DIY Diva

No matter. You’ve cleared the first hurdle. The next challenge is accessorizing.

Yeah, I know what you’re thinking: jelly shoes and plastic choker necklaces, temporary tattoos and Scary Spice buns. I’d be lying if I said some of those items don’t entice me. (Skip the temp tats though, because you’re a grown-ass woman and can get real tattoos—they’re much cooler.)

Opt for a tiny backpack purse (also thrifted), maybe a floppy sunhat—we’re aiming for cliché tourist chic here.  Go bold or go home. Platform sandals? Um, duh.  Hawaiian button up? Totally. Fanny pack? The more the merrier, I say.

Tools of the trade

I digress. Shortalls aren’t cool. It’s the reason I can only find them at the thrift store. I keep trying to make them cool, and no one is buying it. Even the name is stupid: shortalls. Short overalls.

And then there’s the inconvenience they impose—there’s the whole hassle of straps, etc. when you have to pee, and trying not to let them dangle in the toilet. It’s almost as inconvenient as the romper (an article of clothing I really hate, even though I own one and it’s almost the same thing as shortalls—but I digress yet again).

I’m living in a ’90s fantasy, but I look damn good. You probably hate what I’m wearing. But that’s okay; I probably hate what you’re wearing too.


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