Sunday, November 23, 2008

I'm a Jean-ius!

I went shopping for jeans the other day. Just jeans. Nothing else. Being so cheapskate, I generally have a hard time buying clothes because

1. They're too pricey
2. They're always an inch too small

Yeah I know, big is beautiful, but damn... it's hard. I'm too small to fit into plus-sized clothes, but then I'm too big to wear those barbie outfits they're selling everywhere these days. So that leaves me in limbo.

That's why I'm always in effing jeans and t-shirt.

Aaaah, God bless them t-shirts!!!! What on earth am I gonna wear if t-shirts never came around?


Never mind. I'm supposed to talk about jeans, anyway.

What startled me was the LENGTH of the jeans. Please, you expect every Asian girl to be 5'10" or what? Pffft... I'm Malaysian and truly Asian and let me tell you what, I'm at least 9 inches shorter than that. AND I'M NOT SHORT okay (stop laughing). I'm just petite. Heehee.

So in one or two days' time the jeans will make their way to the tailor's in Old Town, and have a few inches of cloth lopped off. No way I'm gonna pull a Katie and start folding them.


Yeah yeah I know, the look has been seen on Rachel Bilson, Reese Witherspoon and Lindsay Lohan, but I don't follow trends. NEVER. That's why I'm always in effing jeans and t-shirt.

But I DID go and get myself a pair of boyfriend jeans. Baggy, oversized, long, rugged - the epitome of men's sloppiness. Someone once said, every girl should have a pair of boyfriend jeans, just like how everyone should have brains.

Wow.... that means I must be having some brains.

If so, then I can't wait for Jessica Simpson to get herself a pair too.

2 comments:

Hui Jan said...

I'm a jeans-and-T-shirt girl too. It used to be by choice, but that's sort of changed of late. So I pretty much do not like my wardrobe, but hate shopping, and I basically fail.

I just walk over the hems of my jeans. *laughs* Doubt people around this age'll grow very much, so.

Yen Peng said...

Wooh! Hi five! We're one of a kind!!! Yeah, I hate my clothes too. Then my mum will launch into her usual story of sending me to Somalia and see if I can survive there. Bottomline is, parents pay for your clothes AND expect you to love them. So no choice.