Look, there are just certain places you don’t go shopping in. When in New Orleans this past weekend with my parents, my mom veered into a Chico’s having a sale. She beckoned me inside and I said, “Mom! I just turned 30, NOT FORTY!”
Alas, she found a cute jacket for herself and lured me inside, where I … uh … well … BOUGHT TWO JACKETS. and a top.
This jacket is mega on sale ($23.99!), and super versatile: sheer, with an offset zip and zip pockets, but what convinced me to buy it is the back—a slightly longer baseball cut. Fresh.
I can’t find a pic of the other jacket (thank god, no one will know it’s Chico’s when they compliment me and I feign the inability to remember where I bought it), but trust when I say it’s a smokin’-hot somehow-dressy mesh bomber jacket.
The top is here:
It’s easy to wear and got tons of compliments the first time I wore it. I told no one where it was from.
My dad joked as I rang up my purchases, “Just call it Chic-O’s. No one will know the difference.” Chic-O’s doesn’t sound all much better than Chico’s, though.
It’s not that I have a problem with Chico’s, it’s just that I’m just not old enough to shop there. Like I’m now too old to shop at Forever 21 (but I can still buy their earrings in a pinch, though I’m currently trying to not buy costume jewelry and just rent from RocksBox dammitthatstatementmakesme30, but that’s a story for another post).
Look, point is, I’m not giving you free rein here to start buying armloads of clothes at old lady stores. But I am saying … a true fashionista knows a good piece, no matter where it comes from.