This morning I was walking to class and noticed that the girl in front of me was wearing (from top to bottom) a North Face fleece, a Longchamp bag, teal velour sweats, and Uggs. I wanted to tap her on the shoulder and then punch her in the face.
I believe in comfort, I really do. But if you're going to wear something like this, why even get out of bed? And the thing that killed me is that her hair was perfect; stick-straight, not a split end or flyaway in sight. She probably spent 30 minutes giving herself a blow out, and she couldn't take an extra two seconds to throw on jeans and ballet flats and look like a presentable human being. What if she had run into Chace Crawford on the street, or even worse, Tim Gunn? She would have rued the day she ever put on half of a teal sweatsuit.