My style is heavily influenced by men. And not the, ‘I-want-to-look-good-for-men,' but rather the ‘I-want-to-wear-exactly-what-men-wear.' Like, give me your soft, floppy sweatshirt – right now. Where did you get those Nikes? What size pants are those? And who the hell is Oscar Isaac’s stylist? Because, carry on.
There’s a time and place for the hip-hugging-side-snatching-butt-lifting fit, but it’s a rare day when you catch me bopping out and about in them. Biker shorts? Or corsets that feel like we’re back in colonial times? Not for me.
I want oversized vintage tees, grandpa’s worn cashmere sweater. And, don’t strike me down, but my actual dad’s jeans. Those pieces are grails.
So I find myself fairly often at vintage stores and thrift shops – it’s a borderline obsession. Last week, I trudged up the stairs to a new local vintage store and struck 24K GOLD. There it was, simply hanging on the wall – a battered, Genesis, Invisible Touch tee shirt. The very shirt I demand to be buried in.
The clouds parted and sunlight beamed down on that dark gray shirt that I can only describe as righteous. And this isn’t that shitty Genesis design with an invisible hand – although, I’ll admit, it’s tough to illustrate ‘invisible touch’ on a tee shirt.
My shirt sports three different colored panes featuring Phill Collins, Mike Rutherford, and Tony Banks. See below for evidence of God:
After racking up a one-hundred-buck- plus total, the cashier lights up and says that since I spent over $100, I get a free shot. Free shot at what? Of what? What?
Due to my crippling anxiety over disappointing anyone – as if she’d have cared less if this stranger took a shot or not – I say, ‘OMG, of course. I love shots it’s my favorite way to enjoy alcohol.’
She asks if I want gin or vodka, which hindsight 20-20 I ab-so-LUTELY should have gone with vodka, but I went with a lavender gin. Which, spoiler alert: hurt when it came back up.
At this point, there’s a line backed up behind me, my palms are sweating, and the whole store – including me – is wondering, is this girl gonna take a shot at 1pm on a Wednesday?
The answer is neither yes nor no – it was a mix of both. I don’t do shots and if you say you’ve seen me take a shot, no you haven’t. There’s a science to taking shots and I am no scientist.
So, I did my best and threw back the shot but my throat decided to throw the shot up. Everything hurt instantaneously. My stomach was cussing me out, my throat filled with pine needles, and my eyes rolled back so far I saw my brain.
Thinking, well at least that’s over, I tried to bring my body back to homeostasis. But when I looked at the glass and realized I’d barely taken half.
I went back for seconds and my body rebelled again. Trying to play it cool, I hid my final gag. With watery eyes and one hand covering my mouth, I gave the cashier a thumbs up, and let out a – ‘ oooh, super good.’
How my boyfriend didn’t break up with me right then and there, I do not know. But I have felt the invisible touch. And it burned.