proper and normal. Conforming to a style you don't own is Jello-ing the Cream Brulee.
Like putting a cat collar to a dog.When I hit 50, that's my gauge. Fair enough.
Yearly, there's a trend you have to forego. With eyes closed.
With disbelief. You ask the demigods of fashion, why oh why?
Why only now? When I've past the prime of teenybopperdom?
Why'd I have to wear eeky 90s get-up back then? And them, all the fash clothes?
Life is not fair at all. But I'm glad i'm not in my teens anymore.
You go to a place, and there's a clone-full of Anne Curtises all over.
Maybe i'll be a Tintin Cojuangco when I grow old. Still with a trace of Elan.
Or a Peping perhaps.