There's usually one thing that people only do with me once.
(Get your minds out of the gutter.)
I'm talking about shopping for clothes.
Everyone is always so eager to help me, but then they experience the madness that is Kevin Broccoli picking out clothing.
It's something like Glenn Close's shower scene from The Big Chill except it takes place in a dressing room while I'm surrounded by polos.
Every time I complain about shopping for clothes, people complain that I have trouble finding clothes I like because I'm too skinny and I should gain weight and blah blah blah.
I don't know when it became okay to comment on someone's weight as long as they're underweight instead of overweight, but let's cut to the case and say if you're going to say something along those lines, go read some article on the Huffington post about a 10-year-old giving birth to a baby gorilla.
It's my party and I'll bitch if I want to.
Why is it that all women's clothing is designed for the skinniest of the gender, and yet men's clothing is designed for the heaviest?
Every time I go shopping, I get the impression that designers think all men weigh at least two hundred pounds.
For example, all button down shirts box out at the waist.
Who does that look good on? What if I have a nice waist? And who are these people with giant, long torsos? Every time I try on a shirt it goes down to my knees.
Where's the clothing for the skinny guys with average torsos?
Oh right, Urban Outfitters--and I can't shop there, because the KKK owns it, or something.
So what do I do?
I break down in the dressing room when I realize that I have to wear skinny jeans and have people assume I'm a hipster, because in regular jeans, I look like I'm trying to single-handedly bring back the 90's baggin' saggin' Barry craze.
(There was a craze, right?)
I don't look good in stripes of any kind.
Light colors can't be too light.
A pair of pants is bought solely on whether or not I have anything resembling an ass in them.
It's a tiresome process, and somehow I leave the store every time with a pair of socks and a little man following behind me with a violin.
In terms of tragedies, I know there are worse, but I'm worried that one day I'll be that guy walking down the street in a parka and a pair of Fred Flintstone slippers, not because I'll be insane, but because the GAP will have finally won.
(Get your minds out of the gutter.)
I'm talking about shopping for clothes.
Everyone is always so eager to help me, but then they experience the madness that is Kevin Broccoli picking out clothing.
It's something like Glenn Close's shower scene from The Big Chill except it takes place in a dressing room while I'm surrounded by polos.
Every time I complain about shopping for clothes, people complain that I have trouble finding clothes I like because I'm too skinny and I should gain weight and blah blah blah.
I don't know when it became okay to comment on someone's weight as long as they're underweight instead of overweight, but let's cut to the case and say if you're going to say something along those lines, go read some article on the Huffington post about a 10-year-old giving birth to a baby gorilla.
It's my party and I'll bitch if I want to.
Why is it that all women's clothing is designed for the skinniest of the gender, and yet men's clothing is designed for the heaviest?
Every time I go shopping, I get the impression that designers think all men weigh at least two hundred pounds.
For example, all button down shirts box out at the waist.
Who does that look good on? What if I have a nice waist? And who are these people with giant, long torsos? Every time I try on a shirt it goes down to my knees.
Where's the clothing for the skinny guys with average torsos?
Oh right, Urban Outfitters--and I can't shop there, because the KKK owns it, or something.
So what do I do?
I break down in the dressing room when I realize that I have to wear skinny jeans and have people assume I'm a hipster, because in regular jeans, I look like I'm trying to single-handedly bring back the 90's baggin' saggin' Barry craze.
(There was a craze, right?)
I don't look good in stripes of any kind.
Light colors can't be too light.
A pair of pants is bought solely on whether or not I have anything resembling an ass in them.
It's a tiresome process, and somehow I leave the store every time with a pair of socks and a little man following behind me with a violin.
In terms of tragedies, I know there are worse, but I'm worried that one day I'll be that guy walking down the street in a parka and a pair of Fred Flintstone slippers, not because I'll be insane, but because the GAP will have finally won.
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