When I moved to New York with nothing but a suitcase, a dream, and a hose, I immediately realized that if I wanted to achieve anything approximating greatness, I needed to join the Junior League or start a fashion blog. The latter seemed more prudent, and less in keeping with the expectations of my family, so that’s what I went with.
Now that I’ve lived here for a full year and have aged like a fine wine to twenty-freaking-four-years-young, I realize something far more important: I need to start a Biker Girl Gang.*
I need to start a Biker Girl Gang in which all members wear their hair in swoopy pompadours. All members will have seen every episode of Jem and the Holograms but also every episode of Jiz and the Mammograms.
And I need us all to wear this:
When I put this outfit on, all my wants and desires crystallized. Because in this Biker Girl Gang, we are going to wear backless Risto vests with white button downs that have lime green fringe haunting the back like some freakish baroque fantasia and flimsy lace skirts from The Most Pixie of Markets. Accessorizing with Lizzie Fortunato bags and Jenni Kayne flats will be de rigueur.
Over our outfits, all of us in the Biker Girl Gang will need to wear BADASS matching jackets like this Anna Sui one that has hit me like a truly great woman might’ve hit Hemingway: it makes me want to write better and drink less gin and generallybe a better person because it is so beautiful and amazing and when I see it I blush and laugh awkwardly and don’t know what to say despite my tendency to talkitytalktalk.
Then we are going to stand around like this and say things like, “Do you think the moon landing was real?” And then we are going to watch documentaries about whether or not the moon landing was real, and then afterwards we’ll stop at the Monkey Bar for a drink and then we’ll all go on a field trip to the Frick and look at that Ingres painting and put our finger on our chins and be like “UUUUNNNNGGGHRUHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!” One of our members will have gone to the New School and she’ll say something terribly unclever about the ethereal nature of Countesse d’Haussonville’s limbs and the one who went to Barnard will turn to the one who went to Princeton and whisper, “Did she even study Mannerism?” And then we’ll nickname the New Schooler The Mannerism Repeller. (I wonder if she could get that sewn on the back of her Anna Sui jacket?)
But who will be in my Biker Girl Gang? See that sad face? It’s me, on the street, in Brooklyn, wondering if I’ll ever get my Biker Girl Gang. Please submit all inquiries re: participation in Biker Girl Gang to firstname.lastname@example.org or via Twitter at @rsevillet. In the mean time, I’ll be watching this, listening to this, and, of course, dreaming about this.