Fanny Packin’ It (You Probably Hate What I’m Wearing)

I’d like to give a shoutout to one of the most hated accessories of the ’80s and ’90s but beloved by me: the fanny pack.

Am I in the minority here? Totally. I don’t know anyone in their mid-20s who even remotely thinks the fanny pack was a good invention.

Key point: they’re ugly. It’s like wearing a tumor filled with life’s little necessities around your waist.  It doesn’t, in the least, fit with my spooky pinup babe aesthetic(link)—making me look more like a mom on a field trip—but sometimes we must sacrifice style for functionality..

Functionality, in this case, is for walking my dog. Please don’t draw any parallels here between dog moms and field trip fanny packs. Pet parenthood is a completely different thing, and I don’t pretend to or even want to be a mom. I have enough issues with the terms “dog mom” and “fur baby” as it is (though I love my dog an abnormal amount and admit to referring to myself as a “corgi mom” from time to time).

Glad we got that out of the way—parenthood aside, I’m now going to get to the point: Women’s pants have tiny pockets that can’t accommodate house keys AND dog treats AND poop bags AND a cell phone, etc. And carrying a purse hurts my shoulder after romping through the park after a while.

This functional hip pouch is the solution to all my problems, and I’m embracing it—dare I say digging it? It’s perfect for the beach, or for hiking, or for theme parks, or for music festivals, or for road trips. You can find them in a variety of colors and styles—from plain to patterned to patriotic—perhaps even one repping your favorite sports team.

And if you’re really into the recent resurrection of grunge and all things ’90s, then this is the perfect accessory to complement your glitter jelly shoes.  Admit it: You’re considering one. They’re mot the spawn of Satan like you’ve been brainwashed to believe.

Okay, fine, if you won’t admit it, then I will: I don’t think fanny packs are totally, completely, ALWAYS ugly (otherwise I wouldn’t wear one, right?). I think they can be cute and trendy in sort of an under-the-radar kind of way. Mine is black faux leather with a gold-tone zipper—classy in a sort of yuppie way, and it matches practically everything.

Will it take the place of my regular handbag? Never­—I’m an oversized handbag (read: suitcase for purse) kinda gal. I like a big bag that will make a statement, and that statement is: HERE I AM. AND SO IS ALL MY STUFF.

Spoiler: I’m not great at packing light.

What I’m trying to say is that there is a time and a place for the fanny pack, and that time is now — summer 2016. Laugh all you want, but I’ll be the functionally hip one at the beach, simultaneously walking my dog and eating an ice cream cone while the memories of juggling a heavy purse drift into the clear blue sky.

And also looking like a mom. With all my stuff. Let’s be real.

You probably hate what I’m wearing. But that’s okay, because I kind of hate it too probably hate what you’re wearing, too.


You Probably Hate What I’m Wearing: Denim Vests



You probably hate what I’m wearing. I wear Halloween shirts year-round and mismatched holiday socks on a regular basis because I firmly believe matching socks is a waste of my time. But that’s only part of the picture.

You probably hate what I’m wearing because it’s not sleek and put-together. It’s raw and real and makes people uncomfortable. It makes me look like I’m the kind of person who doesn’t respect my parents.

I’d like to introduce you to my denim vest.

“Hi, hello, how’s it goin’?”

Is it childish? Check.
Seasonally inappropriate? Check.
Makes me look like a high school delinquent? Check, check, check.

People don’t really wear denim vests anymore except at metal or punk shows or if they’re at Coachella. This isn’t the kind of accessory you see advertised anywhere. I’m not sure it ever was. Leather? Sure. But denim? Not so much.

A denim vest starter pack consists of various obscure patches and pins, teenage angst, “down with the man!” facial piercings, and shotgunned beers in the living room and/or shower. Aka, my “misunderstood” college years minus the beers and plus a few more piercings.

Maybe I hang on to my vest because it has something to do with reliving my “carefree” college days—up all night, wandering darkened small-town streets and scuffling along on my longboard, pretending like I was a real hooligan. (I wasn’t. I’m still not.) Or maybe I just like wearing it and couldn’t care less about the nostalgia. Who knows.

I always wanted to be a Tough Customer like Molly. (source)

When I wear it, I feel like I can take on anything, like no one wants to mess with me. I also feel like I’m 15. I probably look 15 when I wear it, because I’ve always looked younger than I am. Throw in a beanie and my resting bitch face, and I could probably sit unnoticed in the back row of your Algebra I class. Spoiler: I’m 25, and I probably look like I’m trying too hard. Who do I think I am, anyway?

I’m ridiculously attached to this thing, though I hardly get a chance to wear it anymore—professionalism and punk rock don’t really go hand in hand. It’s covered in patches I spent many weekends making from nothing but fabric and paint. It’s a physical manifestation of a side of myself that I don’t show many people (hooray for INFJ tendencies).

My life is a constant struggle  between professionalism and spooky pinup babe.

Whatever the reason is behind my love affair with this vest, I hope I never completely figure it out. It’s a work of art (shitty art, maybe), but it’s ever-evolving—I’m continually adding new patches to it, and I’m always finding different things to pair it with.

Currently I’m into rocking it with a dress—black, red, or white and either striped, plain, or polka dot. Add some leggings and a pair of flats or creepers, and I’m good to go. So maybe it also has something to do with my psychobilly/pinup fascination. Go ahead and call me a creep (I don’t mind).

You probably hate what I’m wearing. But that’s okay; I probably hate what you’re wearing too. 💋