Dress: Macy’s — Shawl: Vintage — Heels: Goodwill (Seychelles) — Tights: Spanx — Bracelet and earrings: Gifts
Who wore all the sparkles on her birthday? Me, me, I did! I wore all the sparkles on my birthday! Just ‘cuz I felt like it.
I knew for months that I wanted to try wearing my old senior-year prom dress again for my 24th birthday, but the shawl-wrap-thing here was something of a last-minute addition when I realized that going to San Francisco for a night out in just a spaghetti-strap dress was probably a poor logistical choice.
Enter the shawl, which was generously bestowed upon me a couple of years ago by an aunt; previously it had belonged to a female friend of my great-uncle’s, or someone like that, and it is from the 1920s and covered in thousands of little sparkly beads! I was, of course, immediately terrified that I would ruin it and it spent the next two years tucked away in my closet, until I realized that leaving it alone in the dark was just sad, and busted it out for a birthday romp. A few beads fell off over the course of the night, but really, I think the old girl had a fine time on the town.
I did feel pretty smashing even without the shawl, though. Mike wasn’t crazy about my outfit–he isn’t a sparkles-and-high-heels kinda guy, and he actually tried to talk me into wearing Bluey (which had arrived in the mail just that day courtesy of Dressopotamia!) as an alternative, but I wasn’t having it. No, it was prom dress or nothing at all! And since nobody wanted me to get naked-birthday-arrested, he acquiesced.
Bluey might have been a more practical choice, actually. The outer sheer layer masks it pretty well, but the inner green layer is shooooooort. Like, I had to try and discreetly pull it down every couple of blocks to make sure my ass was covered. That kinda short. And the drapey neckline is pretty much perfectly designed for a nip-slip (which is also where the shawl came in). But hey, I wore it and I felt cute and nobody slut-shamed me! We’re all winners.
And I’m a double-winner because I thrift-scored these Seychelles babies at Goodwill a month or two ago and took them for a stroll–they’re lovely! Higher than most heels I own, but wicked cool, and the shape of the heel gives me Feelings. Plus, I managed to walk at least two miles in them before I had to admit defeat and throw on my much-loved Born flats. We’ll be seeing you again, Seychelles!
Mike, Tito, and I ran around San Francisco getting glitter all over everything (well, okay, that was mostly me) and having fun. We ended up getting dinner at Lefty O’Doul’s, and Mike and I got into an unresolved argument about whether or not it was better than Tommy’s Joynt, which is our usual spot for large slabs of meat. (Later, when I was telling my mom about the trip, she told me about the last time she went to Lefty O’Doul’s, many years ago, when she and her brothers all got tongue sandwiches. Tongue no longer seems to be on the menu, but the corned beef is pretty good.)
After dinner we did some window-shopping at stores firmly out of our price range (damn you, Fluevog!), took these here pictures, and finally made our way back to the theater, because the play was about to start!
So, War Horse: beautiful light design, mind-bendingly beautiful puppets. The goose was like Michael in another life. The actress playing Emilie was really dang cute, and really, all the performances were excellent (with extra cheers going to the goose puppeteer). I got really, really into some parts (pull the cart, Joey!) but other scenes left me curiously unmoved (DAMN THIS WAR!), which I attribute partially to the uneven script, which was too on-the-nose at times. We know war is terrible, we’re seeing it onstage, you don’t need to say the words. Some moments fell flat because of the stylized way in which they were portrayed; we’re not supposed to laugh at Captain Nicholls’ death, are we?
On the other hand: near the end, when Joey the horse’s fate is uncertain and the man lowers his pistol and takes aim, the entire audience fell silent except for one girl, bless her heart, sitting a row or two away from us, who gasped, “oh my god” with such feeling and seriousness that I can only hope the actors heard it all the way down on the stage. I’ll never know, because I was too busy cracking up.
So was War Horse worth seeing? Well, I’m not gonna say neighhhh!
(I’m sorry. I’ll show myself out.)