Saturday, November 2, 2013

Marathon Chasing

The New York City Marathon is upon us this weekend, and its most tangible effect on me and my block thus far has been the teams of European runners yogging between the hotel on one corner and the park on the other.

Marathon chasing, the two times that I've done it, is close to becoming my favorite past-time. It's invigorating to watch the runners and feed off of their adrenaline. While they physically and mentally exhaust every ion in their body, us spectators get to watch from the literal sidelines, drinking coffee and wearing lovely fall clothes.

Bada-bing, the perfect transition to answering the materialistic question that plagues clotheshorses every day in different contexts. What does one wear to X? X, in this case, is spectating the marathon. Luckily, I have a personal anecdote to guide us (me and my gang of five readers) in answering such a mind-numbing question.

The last time I watched the marathon was when my mom ran it four years ago. I was a freshman in college and still trying to figure out just how many muffins one could eat before acquiring a muffin top. I knew I was pretty close to figuring it out because earlier that week, the button on my favorite pair of jeans had spontaneously popped while I was sitting in the library. My pants had ceased to fit, and I had nothing to wear when I came home from school to watch my mom traverse the five boroughs by foot.

(This reminds me of an interview I had for a job that I didn't get in which the interviewer (asshole) asked me to give an example of a time that I creatively solved a problem. I finally have it--THIS is a time that I creatively solved a problem!)

Problem: I had discovered the world of dining hall pastries and none of my pants fit.

Solution: I found a pair of jeans in my house that belonged to another member of my family who was at a different metabolic phase in her life. The pants were a little loose around the waist (score) but were too short, so I snipped them above the knee, cuffed the frayed edges, and voilĂ , I had a pair of jorts (jean shorts, duh). I wore a pair of black tights under my jorts to both shield my limbs from the November temperatures and passersby from my hairy legs. I paired with a neon green schoolboy cardigan to match the neon green nail polish on my fingers (ew).

As pictures from the day remind me, the outfit was truly awful. Also worth noting that my sister had been testing out a new camera setting, and I had been testing out a new bronzer, so I appear to have a nice neon orange glow. But the outfit turned me on to the comfort and utility of jorts. Jorts give a little more room in the midsection than do regular jeans and can be worn year-round by adding a pair of tights. I may or may not watch the marathon this weekend, but if I do, I'm going to channel me circa my freshman fifteen and wear jorts and tights.

Colorblock sweater, Levi's black denim shorts, grey tights, Aperlai booties, Isabel Marant Ioline Jacket, Baseball Cap, Shinola Watch

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