Swanning

I have this fantasy.

It’s informed half by Michelle Pfeiffer’s cashmere-swaddled character in What Lies Beneath and half by Carrie Bradshaw in the second Sex and the City movie, when she flits around in silk teddies and long strands of pearls, with a dash of every Nora Ephron movie ever thrown in for good measure. Basically, it’s a fantasy wherein I live in a big, rambling house full of white furniture and Williams-Sonoma cooking appliances, and spend my days in a light-flooded office typing away on a typewriter (this, from Diane Keaton’s character in Something’s Gotta Give, I think), but instead of wearing what I’d actually wear in a situation like this, which is the same pair of leggings and the same beat-up shirt from some college I visited but never actually went to every single day, I’m wearing, like, fine knits and such.

For serious, guys: Kendrick has been gone for the past week (he just finished finals and is now home for a solid month, whee), and it was three days before I changed out of my Vassar shirt and hole-y leggings. I’m not even exaggerating. Three days. Same outfit. (I showered once, and put it back on, because I am lazy like a slug.)

Anyway, in this fantasy I have drawers full not of twenty-year-old Danskins, but rather slouchy pants that could easily swan off to a lunch at the Ivy with the simple addition of a pair of heels. Not with pilled tanks and yellowed tees, but rather stunning knit tops with elegant necklines that are just as cozy as their more dilapidated sisters, but far more chic.

In this fantasy, I have Michelle Pfeiffer’s bone structure, Carrie Bradshaw’s shoe wardrobe, and Nora Ephron’s typewriter, and I am wearing a black funnel-neck crop top and amazing black harem pants, and red lipstick because every fantasy should come with red lipstick.

At least the outfit is real.