Writers More Elegant Than I

My childhood vision of my own authorial style did not exactly come to pass.

I did try to take this subject seriously, but kept laughing.

Before sitting down at my desk to work this morning, I took a look at myself in the mirror and started laughing. Not a bitter, critical laugh, nor a hysterical, on-the-verge-of-sobbing wail disguised as a chuckle. I just laughed, because I looked like a fucking dork, and it delighted me.

When I was a child, dreaming of becoming an author and a real-deal magazine journalist, I wonder what I thought a writer wore while she worked. Probably not this.

I did the makeup because it is one of my favorite self-soothing practices. I am fine with the makeup. The makeup is respectable.

But let us examine the fashion choices here. The red T-shirt from Fabletics is acceptable, though I am certainly not engaged in any athletic pursuit at the moment.

Besides the black pajama shorts simultaneously riding up my ass crack and putting my magnificent FUPA on display (not pictured, you should have to pay for that) we’ve got a perfect and beautiful farfalle hair clip gifted to me by my beloved

Robyn Pennacchia

of

Wonkette

for my recent-ish 44th Scorpio birthday.

You will also note the snake junk jewelry hair clip, purchased as part of a pre-Taylor Swift concert effort to assemble a Reputation-era look that would not have me ejected from a stadium full of 65,000 screaming Midwestern women, girls, gays, and also my boyfriend.

Does a snake go with pasta? Look, there’s a Gorgon head in the center of the Sicilian flag, which also shows off the bountiful grain harvest available on said island, so yes, I do think a snake goes with pasta.

The cheap blue light blocker glasses are ultimately what give this look the aura of middle-aged glamour it deserves.

This is a woman who hunches over her desk even though she’s rigged it to be ergonomically comfortable. This is a woman whose laptop is balanced on a pile of books for her present research project (about Abraham Lincoln, obviously - I’m somehow living in Illinois, of all places, and it is required that a writer should do this whilst stationed here.)

Note the desk treadmill I rarely use.

And now, let us examine what I thought a writer ought to look like, at least when I was a wee child. Photographic evidence shall be provided!