by Grace Helbig
Fall Out Boy posters: By the time you’ve scored your full-time job, it’s safe to say you’ve probably outgrown posters, so it’s best to leave them at home. Especially the Fall Out Boy ones. They can cause paper cuts, they tear easily, and they can remind people of the dark time when Pete Wentz was married to Ashlee Simpson.
Glue: Glue is great for a lot of things, but not for wearing to work. It’s tacky.
Jetpack: Trust me, I love jetpacks as much as the next guy, but they can be a bit risqué for the office. It depends what kind of shoes you wear with them, but to me they’re a little too dressy. At the end of the day you want your work wardrobe to play a supporting role to your ideas and work ethic, not steal focus. Not everyone can pull off a jetpack, but if you’re one of the lucky ones, save it for the office holiday party.
Water: I know everyone says they should have more water in their lives, but sorry to be the bearer of bad news, water as work wear is the wrong choice. It’s a natural resource that needs protecting, it can be extremely see-through under fluorescent lighting, and your coworkers might mistake you for a water cooler and try to gossip near you. Save yourself the hassle.
Meat: This goes in line with the fruit. There’s a time and a place to wear meat, but the workplace isn’t one of them, unfortunately. Sorry if that ruBs you the wrong way. Hot dogs!
A mascot costume: Unless you work as said mascot, it’s best not to wear a mascot costume to work. They can start office arguments if your coworkers are fans of the opposing team. They can limit your peripheral vision, they can make typing and using the bathroom more difficult, and they can inspire unwanted associates to open up to you about their furry fetish. Best to save the costume for the tailgate this weekend.
A family member’s ashes: A lot of people have sentimental items they wear to quietly remind themselves of people or places or things. And though they’re excellent for contouring, ashes are most flattering in an urn rather than on your person.
Spices: Spices, like cinnamon and oregano, aren’t optimal work attire. They can be very uncomfortable and can trigger allergies in coworkers. They also don’t cover your private sectors, which may lead to your being fired. Paprik-aH GeeZ. Orega-OH nO.
Your emotions: You never want to wear your emotions on your sleeve or on yourself at the office. Keep them close to the vest. Or better yet, just wear the vest and pretend the emotions don’t exist.
basics
GOING OUT
Getting dressed to go out is always a process.
You’re dressing to impress and/or investing in potentially becoming a hot mess. The options are endless. Do you go sexy, elegant, classic, edgy, or casual? Everyone has opinions on the optimal going-out outfits. If you’ve been frozen in ice for decades and recently thawed, here are some of those usual suspects.
HERE’S THE BORING LIST OF THINGS EVERYONE TELLS YOU TO WEAR TO GO OUT:
Party dresses
Fancy pants/leggings
Tight jeans
Blouses
Heels
Jackets and coats
HERE ARE MY GOING-OUT GO-TOS
I like to keep things basic. If I decide to leave the safe, warm glow of my computer screen and venture into the real world after dark, it’s usually to some sort of bar/restaurant-with-friends scenario, and less often to some sort of live-show/networking activity, and even less frequently to some sort of red-carpet event. Still, I usually opt for one of three looks:
A pair of decently clean, decently fitted skinny jeans, a T-shirt or sweater, a statement necklace and/or stacks of rings, booties or ballet flats, and possibly a leather jacket
A romper with some sneakers or heels (or heeled sneakers)
A dress that someone else chose and dressed me in with shoes that someone else chose and put on my feet
Enough about me! Let’s talk about the things you should put on your person when you go out for the night (most obvious: your boss).
WHAT NOT TO WEAR TO GO OUT
Plants: Plants are not a good choice to wear for an evening out. They’re very itchy and can attract bugs and overeager DIY enthusiasts. Yes, air plants are aLL OVer Pinterest, but that doesn’t mean they should be all over you. You’re a wallflower; don’t wear wallflowers. Also, I highly suggest avoiding wearing plants to a wedding or a frat party, as they’re usually the first place drunk guests look to throw up into.
Wallpaper: Wallpaper, although fun, quirky, and expressive, is a no-no for nights out. The material definitely doesn’t breathe well, especially if you end up dancing and/or in a humid environment. It can also create an unflattering body shape and any sweating can cause stickage. One zoo-themed wallpaper ensemble plus one hot nightclub dance floor will give a whole new meaning to the term “camel toe.”
Scissors: I know it’s next to impossible to stay away from scissors as part of a late-night getup. But you should try. You never know if your night will have you running for a taxi to stop the wedding of your one true love, running from a murderer who disguised himself as a seemingly perfect Tinder date, or just plain running with the devil. And running with scissors is extremely dangerous. So sacrifice looking sharp and leave the scissors at home.
Pizza and/or cookie dough: Any uncooked dough is definitely a do(ugh)n’t! It can attract animals, depressed girls, and children. None of which you should have around you for an evening out.
Lawn furniture: Lawn furniture at tailgating events makes sense, but lawn furniture when you’re out at night trying to get some tail is a fashion offense. It’s best not to wear anything that might invite someone you’re attracted to to “sit on you.” Also any moisture (rain, tears, etc.) can cause rust. And my grandma always said, “Save the rusty nails for when you need to give yourself tetanus to get out of a lawsuit that was definitely your fault to begin with.”
Tanks: Army tanks are never cute to wear out. They’re very polarizing and aggressive and hard to do any “back dat ass up” in.
Spaghetti straps: Straps made from spaghetti look chic, but don’t last. They fall apart, can cause unflattering odors, and attract stoners and raccoons. Instead, try other materials like papier-mâché or burlap.
Car parts: Car parts, though very urban and industrial, can get really cumbersome for a night out on the town. Like the men I date, they can be old, heavy, loud, gassy, and greasy. Steer clear of the car parts. LOL! Zoom!
Board games: Yes, board games are usually crowd favorites. But save them for game night. On a table. As an outfit, they can be bulky and incite arguments. Take a lesson from *NSYNC: the song is “Quit Playing Games wITH My Heart” not “Quit Playing Games On My Heart.” You want to take a risk with your nighttime look, not wear Risk as your nighttime look.
Balloons: Balloons are tricky business if you’re going out for the night. They seem fun and festive but they’re dangerous to dress up in. You have to be extra cautious of women and men with sharp jewelry and/or a fear of balloons. As an adult, I realize that I hate the experience of a balloon popping. It’s a disgusting, immoral experience. Why create that scenario for others? Pop bottles, not balloons.
“Women should look like women. A piece of cardboard has no sexuality.”
—ALEXANDER McQUEEN
“Women can look like cardboard and still exude sexuality.”
—GRACE HELBIG
Your heart on your sleeve: Hearts belong in bodies so they can keep you alive. Do not put them on your sleeve.
Crop tops: Wearing crops for tops seems cute in theory, but in reality, they’re inconvenient. Pesticides should be reason enough to avoid them. And if you’re in harvest season, forget it, the ensemble becomes a total chore. Ew! Stick to organic materials.
Fajitas: Fajitas, while they do attract attention and are a suburban-family favorite, should be avoided for an evening ensemble. You’ve seen fajitas getting served in a chain restaurant, right? The obnoxious billowing smoke that follows them as a server brings them to a table? They’re a direct reflection of the person ordering them. Th
ey practically scream, “LOOK aT me, I’m Insecure anD OVercomPensaTInG.” You don’t need that in your late-night look. They say where there’s smoke, there’s fire. In this case, where there’s smoke, there’s third-degree burns because fajitas are too hot to put on your skin.
Season/series finale spoilers: Wearing a TV show’s season or series finale spoiler is annoying and hateful and may cause people who’ve never hurt anyone in their lives to want to cut you. Especially if you wear spoilers to the most recent season of RuPaul’s Drag Race. Stop that.
THE SWEATPANTS DIARIES #1
Monday, Sept. 14, 2015
Dear Diary,
Tomorrow is the day. It’s my first day of ninth grade and my first day in a REAL SCHOOL ever! I’m sooooo nervous; it’s really making me sweat! Sorry, Diary, you know one of my symptoms of stress is accidental pun-age. And I know you know this already, Diary, but if anyone else were to accidentally find this diary in the future and need some story context to be able to completely enjoy the variety of antics that surround my life, here ya go, stranger:
Until now, I’ve only ever been homeschooled because my SweatMom and SweatDad couldn’t be bothered to get off their stupid beanbags to take me to a REAL school. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. Growing up, I’d watch Gap and Old Navy commercials and just imagine myself in a class like that, with all the colors and conformity. Sigh, what a dream. You see, a lot of sweatpants like me never get a chance to go to school, and if we do, it usually ends up being a trade school like Sports Authority or Champs or, even worse, a DICK’s Sporting Goods. Ugh! It makes me want to rip out my elastic waistband just thinking about it. But this year, I got lucky! For my fourteenth birthday, my grandma Windbreaker gave me the greatest gift EVER, an acceptance letter to THE MALL OF AMERICA. I nearly ripped a hole in my crotch opening the envelope, I was so excited! The Mall of America is one of the largest and most prestigious schools for wardrobe wannabes in the country! It’s the capital of clothing, the UN of undergarments, the Ivy League of investing in a future that’s sure to fit. Sorry, Diary! It’s from the commercial!
I couldn’t believe Grandma Windbreaker got me in! I asked her how in the world she did it and she pulled me aside and said she found the hidden stash of tests and writing samples I kept in my off-brand duffel bag under my generic wood-framed twin bed with Dallas Cowboys bedding. (I wanted a vintage cream quilt like the one I saw on Pinterest, but my Sweat-Dad wouldn’t let me get it, he thought it was “too splashy.” Let it be known, if it isn’t a hot dog or ankle weights, it’s probably too splashy for my SweatDad.)
Anyways, I was so embarrassed that G-Wind found my private papers! You see, I’ve been secretly taking some classes online at eBay.com and doing some practice essays I found in a forum on Overstock.com in the hopes that I might be able to convince my pant-rents to let me enroll in a school, ANY SCHOOL, by eleventh or twelfth grade so I’d at least have a year or two of store-study. But I had no idea it could happen this quickly!
G-Wind also got really serious and began to tell me a story I had never heard before. Appar(el)ently (sorry, D!) her SweatMom “Eliza Doolittle’d” (whatever that means) a business suit with money into marrying her and together they gave birth to my G-Wind. Evidently, BusinessDad was disappointed with her the second she was born. Because she was born a Windbreaker and not a suit like him and the rest of his dry-clean-only family. Tensions ran up like a hole in a pair of stockings and her SweatMom and BusinessDad eventually split at the seams.
Her SweatMom decided to take her settlement money and do all she could to make G-Wind’s childhood better than her own, including sending her to the MOA. Trust me, I had no idea my G-Wind had gone there! But I’ve always thought my G-Wind was the smartest person I know, so it totally makes sense. She went on to tell me that her experience at the MOA was not a pleasant one. Uh-oh. Supposedly my G-Wind had a mouth that couldn’t be zipped when she was younger. And the suits that ran the school, she said, reminded her of her BusinessDad who discarded her, so she started acting out. She’d get into arguments with uptight teachers and buttoned-up store managers until she ended up walking out of class. She couldn’t stand being labeled and departmentalized. The school felt so Wind-resistant that she decided to start a protest group called “The Mall Walkers of America.” Every Friday they’d meet before the school opened and walk the premises as a sign of peaceful protest. The administration hated it, but there was nothing they could do about it. Until the day the Mall Walkers were shut down. G-Wind called it Black Friday. She wouldn’t give me too many details about the day, but said the protest escalator-ed and she was kicked out of the MOA for good. Her SweatMom was devastated. All that money . . . waisted.
She glazed over the specifics of what happened after she left the MOA, but in broad strokes she moved back in with her SweatMom, eventually went on to marry her late husband, my grandpa Windbreaker, they had my SweatMom, and lived a pretty generic life. She explained that because my SweatMom never showed any interest in anything other than covering herself in Cheetos stains growing up (no surprise), she hadn’t even thought about the MOA until she came across my secret stash. She says she was in my room looking for her pull (if you aren’t familiar, a pull is the metal tab on a zipper, it’s common for olds to lose theirs fairly frequently), but if you ask me, I think she was hoping to find anything drug-related that would numb her to the reality TV my pant-rents watch every day. Sorry, G-Wind, you got yourself a pretty tapered SweatGranddaughter.
She said that when she found my tests and essays, she had a flashback to her younger, overly studious self. She said she knows I have real potential and she isn’t going to let it go to waist.
And to be honest, Diary, that was the first time anyone has ever said that they believe in me. It made me feel elastic. Sorry, ecstatic. It made me feel ecstatic!
Grace’s blue Puma sweatpants
G-Wind said she had to pull some strings to get me in. She showed my scores and samples to Dr. Scholls, who she mentioned was an old friend of hers who teaches at the school, and he passed them on to the Brooks Brothers, the legendary superintendents of the MOA and the ones who kicked G-Wind out of the school for good that infamous Black Friday long ago. Because of that, she had to have Dr. Scholls present the scores as if they were from his own SweatGranddaughter, which she says was a very dangerous and generous thing for him to do. And I don’t even know the guy! Makes me wonder . . .
Wondering over! Evidently the Brothers were very impressed with my work, and though they hardly ever allow sweatpants (or the like) into their academy, they would make an exception on account of Dr. Scholls’s long-lasting loyalty to the MOA. Sheesh, I feel like I owe this guy my sole.
With that, G-Wind said she was finished blabbering on about the past. She wanted to talk about my future. She rested her thin, wrinkled sleeves on me and told me that she wants me to succeed. She wants me to have the life her SweatMom tried to give her. She said, “You take the MOA by (Wind) storm and show ’em the only thing sloppy about you is your handwriting.”
And she’s right, I have very sloppy penmanship.
She hugged me close and continued: “The only thing you need to do is make sure no one knows you’re related to me. As far as the BBs know, you’re Dr. Scholls’s SweatGranddaughter twice restocked, and that’s all anyone needs to know.” Before I could even question the statement, she started playing Britney Spears’s “Work Bitch” on her iWatch and shuffled out of my room, hands in the air like she was victorious, crossing a finish line.
And now here I am, Diary. The night before I leave for the MOA. My mind is a gymnasium of thoughts and emotions. My duffel bags are packed and the only thing I know is that Dr. Scholls is supposed to meet me when I arrive to help get me settled. But what if he doesn’t show up? What if I end up in the Lost and Found? Should I try to iron myself again? Do I have everything? Do I have my drawstrings, my stain sticks, should I brush up on my folding??? ACK!
But as manic as I seem, Diary, know that I’m ju
st as excited. I’m starting a brand-new life! At the MOA! THE MOA! Ahhhhhh! I still can’t believe it. It’s going to be great! Okay, I’m gonna try to get to sleep. Wish me luck, D! Cheers to a new adventure! (Trust me, I tried to think of a pun to end this, but my brain is just too tied up right now—HEYO!)
Love,
Sweatpants
style staples and fashion favorites
FREQUENT AND QUESTIONABLE (FAQs)
I realize one of the major components of writing a beauty book
is sharing your personal sense of style. So I wanted to give you a quick look at some of my style staples and fashion favorites. I guarantee that once you go through these, you’ll wonder who could have possibly given me the green light to write a style guide, and if they are still employed. The answers are “an actual human” and hopefully “yes!” Let’s look at my preferred apparel. I call them my FAQs because they’re Frequent And Questionable.
Stripes: Stripes have been a staple of mine for years. This shirt isn’t my favorite in particular (sorry, this shirt!), but it is representative of my extensive collection of striped clothing. I think stripes are classic and casual, relaxed and refined. They can act as a neutral and be worn with a lot of different color combinations, or they can be worn with a more toned-down palette and make a bold statement. To me they feel timeless, genderless, and effortless: three qualities I really love in clothing. For some reason I’ve always been attracted to neutral color palettes and more nautical- or Americana-inspired patterns. (Apparently, I was in the navy in a past life? Or I’m just desperately trying too hard to be Reese Witherspoon in this current life?) I seem to always have at least five to ten different, inexpensive striped T-shirts, sweaters, and dresses in rotation in my closet because I wear them constantly and gross them up consistently. The only thing in my life I’ve ever been consistent about is an inconsistent level of cleanliness.
