Confessions of a Bad Fashion Blogger

I’ve been naughty lately.

I could come up with a handful of viable excuses to justify why I’ve been neglecting this little corner of the World Wide Web I call my own, but I’m already a notorious rambler and would rather not bore you with my life. It’s rare that I have a moment to sit in front of the Macbook and properly write. If I do, it’ll be a paper on the connotations, denotations, and dissemination of ideology or some sort of analysis on marketing strategies. Good stuff, I tell ya. It’s a good thing I spend a chunk of my day rehearsing or dancing to keep me sane.

Truth is, I don’t have much time for fashion at the moment. The pile of unread ELLEs, Harpers, and Marie Claires has been stacking up on my bedside table and left for dead under some strange mix of coursework readings and Self magazines. Between classes and rehearsals and squeezing in at-home workouts, I’m living in some sort of lazy uniform day to day.

In doing so, however, I’ve come to hoard what I believe are the best workout pants and prettiest sports bras a girl could ever own. So that’s fashion, right? Perfecting dancewear will be my saving grace, then. Fit for fashion, fashion for fitness. Dressing for a workout is an art, I tell you.

(Or so I tell myself when I’m tempted to wear said outfits out in public.)

And it seems as though fitness gear has infiltrated in my regular wardrobe: some combination of a cropped top and high-waist pant or skirt has become my go-to uniform. The question, now, is this: what’s a girl to do come winter when peeks of (what will be) abs are both unacceptable and impractical?

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