Clarity

Huh...
I hope my last post doesn't sound like I will now completely let go of all hygiene and anything that may make me look aesthetically pleasing.
While reading it, I could see how one got a mental picture of me sitting in a filthy recliner wearing a stained wife beater, pants unbuttoned with a beer gut and popcorn strewn all over my lap and hair.
This, of course, is not the case. I am just happy I will not be judged anymore if my chipped nail polish takes longer than a day to correct.
I do enjoy dressing up and looking "good". I do not enjoy people taking it so damn seriously. Hearing folks go on and on and on about the joys of sequins and the genius breakthrough of The Pagoda Shoulder just makes me want to prance around in a burlap sack to show them how little I care. One way I achieve this is the not-so-uncommon outfit I'll wear to work, consisting of a pair of very old, very thread-bare scrubs and a T-shirt or maybe even a Gap Men's button down and boots. I could not care any less if the people of Madison Avenue do not view me as "fashionably elite". That's right, I'm not. I'm comfortable. Because for the next 8-and-change hours, I'll be in an unforgiving suit, consisting of a shell of a jacket and a tight and uncomfortable skirt, making the act of walking in the 4-inch heels a very annoying thing to do. Sure it may look good - it is (w)TF after all, but...my God.
I may be exceedingly harsh on the World o' Fashion, but it's only because as I have been working in the lucrative "luxury" circle for years now. I have seen the worst of it and the people that wallow in this tier can be, well, creepy. Perhaps I will find it not so unsucky one day.
I highly doubt it, but I won't shrug the notion entirely. It has had its exciting moments, and I have seen some very- eh - interesting things that make for great stories, but for now, I am so glad I broke out.

GTFO of (w)TF

Yes, that's right, I got the f--k out of (w)TF. 

No more patched up fiascoes, no more smoke and mirrors, no more "Yea hi, gimmie da Parts Dapawtment, pleez", no more coked out clients in flop sweats massacring entire boxes of tissues at 9:30 in the morning, no more dreaded "fashion emergencies", and no more creeps and douches saying creepy, douchey things.
Wrestling with coworkers to hold just some shred of ethics and witnessing their petty disputes will be a thing of the past; fellas, save your breath before venting to me, because I honestly DGAF and won't spend any more energy trying to fix it.
I will not have to wear painful heels anymore, unless I feel like it. No longer feeling like a display item sitting in this Fisher Price-sized iron maiden chair with desk to match. And now, my nails will not be painted unless I want them to be. 


This feeling is unlike any other; it is quite surreal walking around this place knowing that by July 30th, the only reason I will travel to the Upper East Side on a Saturday morning is if I am on my way to the Met.  
Will I reminisce later on? Will I become nostalgic for disturbia and dysfunction? WIll I long for these supple suede-paneled walls and grey velvet curtains? 
Why yes, those dressing rooms do look inviting...


Things I will miss the most:
Wearing my tissue scrubs to work or any other form of pajamarie
Controlling the music 
5 o'clock dance parties (but I may just see if this one is transferable)
Blogging and Tumbling the hours away [sly smile]