looking fine in Farah slacks

Oh for misleading post! Let me be poifectly clear, all these posts before, after and including this one are from Retrorama.  So, sick as these two look swathed in poly, this is not their everyday attire. I hope.
Mmmm, blue, the color of Bobbie Sherman's eyes. The shift dress with collar that reaches from here to 1962 is his mom's. Yer mom wears sandals.  But our man in the Farah slacks -- he's  in insurance, that's for damn sure -- is beyond awesome. Let's think about Farah slacks. Let's think about that fabric that was once a petroleum byproduct but instead of dumping it into a nearby wetland, some smartypants (ha) said, this sludge has the smell and feel of something I'd like to swaddle my lower half in. And if it gets creased in the mucousy birth canal of the extrusion machine, it will hold that crease throughout a three-day continuous drive across the American West in a non-airconditioned Ford Pinto while containing the 60 gallons of dope-tinged sweat excreted by someone named Vic. Yeah there's going to be a rash, but can that be attributed to the slacks or the Silver Saddle in Reno?  And speaking of packages,  these slacks are formfitting. Farah slacks never wear out. Every pair ever made is still in existence, most upcycled by the roofing industry.  Did you notice that this couple's long pointy collars are actually reaching out  and touching tips?  Poly love.

the red shoes

The ballet roughly follows the Hans Christian Andersen story upon which it is based. A young woman sees a pair of red shoes in a shop window, which are offered to her by the demonic shoemaker. She puts them on and begins to dance with her boyfriend. They go to a carnival, where she seemingly forgets about the boyfriend as she dances with every man she comes across. Her boyfriend is carried away and nothing is left of him but his image on a piece of cellophane, which she tramples.
She attempts to return home to her mother, but the red shoes, controlled by the shoemaker, keep her dancing. She falls into a netherworld, where she dances with a piece of newspaper which turns briefly into her boyfriend. She is then beset by grotesque creatures, including the shoemaker, who converge upon her in a manner reminiscent of The Rite of Spring. They abruptly disappear, leaving her alone. No matter where she flees, the shoes refuse to stop dancing.
Near death from exhaustion, clothed in rags, she finds herself in front of a church where a funeral is in progress. The priest offers to help her. She motions to him to remove the shoes, and as he does so, she dies. He carries her into the church, and the shoemaker retrieves the shoes, to be offered to his next victim.
So that's The Red Shoes in a nutshell.  Another hard-hitting documentary about the need for arch support. The above red shoes were made by the demonic shoemaker's lazy brother who stitched on the alluring ruffle but forgot to infuse them with Dance Frenzy.  The woman on the left may only get toe cramps. Did they call each other up and coordinate or what?

vintage posture

Is it possible to pose in a retro way? Even though they've both done a super job of saying "vintage" sartorially, what rings my Andy Mayberries is the way they're standing.  He's kind of a broad-shouldered palooka just come from his steady job at the bank, standing straight, and proud to be out with his girl. Arm around her waist, not in Guido way, but in a This is my date way. His sweetheart is kind of snuggled into his armpit and doesn't mind it one bit. She's dolled herself up -- lipstick, fixed her hair, fully foundationed -- and standing demurely, feet together, ladylike but confident, shoulders back, smile forward. The curve of her hand on her purse -- Rembrandt-esque. Gosh, they're swell.

Retroguys in tight pants

In addition to being impressed by their tolerance for vaso-constricting clothing, I had not noticed the evil all-seeing eyes of the Minnesota History Center. Lookit that. It feels sort of menacing, doesn't it? One love dudes, even though we're here in the land of Michele B. likker stores closed on Sundays and firearms available 24/7.

a really sweet dressette and blisters under my toenails

If it's not one thing it's another. Sure you get this unbe-fucking-lievable Alice and Olivia dress inspired by a chicken carcass. For $6. But then you get some running shoes, red, flexible, just like you like em and you run like the wind in them, but it turns out they're a little short (big shoes, i.e. shoes that fit, are nasty and long) and for 7 miles they smoosh your toenails. And your toenails get six kinds of outraged and make their point by developing blisters the size and shape of a Hostess (Toestess) Snowballs underneath the nail. My entire feet have not turned black and putrid and started to drain. Yet. So, cute dress and amputation with a rusty butter knife. You can't have everything.

Retrorama is not ruined! Hurray!

The ladeez are killing, killing I tell ya.  Maybe I should have titled this post, Let's get this party started!  That's what I like to holler at the senior sing-alongs.

Is that a gang sign? Not the pearls, the woman on the right?  It probably means she's a member of the Science Museum and there's a reciprocal arrangement with the History Center, so when you flash the sign, yo ya get reduced-price parking sucka.

Retrorama ruined!

The same camera that begat the Nurse Nicole debaucle strikes again! This threesome was just so cute (were just so cute?) I had to post it anyway.  Between our man about town, elbow-warming gloves on the left and the peplumed pretty on the right, you get a strong whiff of vintage here, digitalitis or no. Say, this can be a fun DIY project -- out with the colored pencils and connect the dots, color in the white parts, bedazzle them as you wish! And color me smarter because I ditched this camera for a less impressive looking but more reliable one.