They just seem sexy. And sassy. And a little bad-ass. And like they're something cool girls wear who like, drink coffee and have boyfriends and ride Vespas and shit. I don't do any of those things. So I never wore leather leggings.
Plus, you know: expensive.
But damn it, I wanted them. My shallow whims would not be denied any longer. Armed with one of my Nordstrom gift cards and a tiny bit of burgeoning self-confidence, I found a pair of reasonably priced fake leather leggings this week and wore them for last night's NYE festiveness.
Hot.
As.
Shit.
 |
| Picture fail. There's another 2013 resolution: better pictures. This doesn't count 'cause I took it in 2012. Yup. |
I love them. They are my inner child come out to play. They are instant style. They make me strut around like I'm a Kardashian. They're just pretty. And they help fulfill my #9 Resolution, which I will elaborate on now.
I want to be faaabulous. And in order to be it, I need to feel it, and thus look it, which means faking it for awhile. Faux. This year, I'm gonna fake it till I make it (to appropriate a rather overused term but hey, it works). I'm going to give into my inner narcissist and fashionista and do myself up all fancy, wear whatever the hell I want and spend more than three dollars on eye shadow and throw away all my shirts with holes. I want to feel fantastic every time I step outside my door.
'Cause you never know who you might meet, and you never know who might try to sell you a Vespa.
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