The following statement can now be found on my About Page:
Full Disclosure: As of July 2009, I am a Gap Brand Enthusiast. This is different than a Gap Band Enthusiast, as I am a fan of the Gap Brand an not the Gap Band. No disrespect to Gap Band fans.As a Gap Brand Enthusiast, I am not paid nor required to blog about Gap merchandise or functions. However, on occasion I do receive free merchandise for my own personal use as well as to give out on my blog. These blog posts will always have the hashtag #gapborntofit and will be categorized as such.
I have been wearing clothes from the Gap since the 70's. The only disclosure statement I have about that is that their jeans make my ass look good, and I will always say that for free.
On Thursday night, I had the pleasure of assembling women for all blogs of life together for a Gap Born to Fit Party at the Gap 1969 Pop-Up Store on Robertson Blvd. It was a night of sangria and laughing and, as I told everyone who walked in the door I invited you to a party where you have to take off your pants.
We were all different shapes and sizes, as women have a tendency to be, but the one thing we all had in common is that we all left with a pair of 1969 jeans that made us feel like rockstars.
I'll write more about that when the photos come in. Also, if I managed to figure out the technology correctly, I even have a livevlog from the dressing room. It's like BetheMarriage, except pantsless.
Actually, it's exactly like BetheMarriage (which is on tonight at 8pm PST, by the by...)
But thanks to the folks at Gap and Brand About Town, I have a $50 gift certificate to give away! (And there may be more where that comes from, so stay tuned.)
All I want is you Most Embarrassing Clothing Story.
You must post this story in the comments (or you can post it on your blog with the hashtag #gapborntofit) but you MUST return here and comment with the link to the blog. I will be using a random number generator to pick the winner from the comments. This contest closes on Wednesday, August 19 at 5pm PST.
You ARE allowed to post more than one story to enter more than once - you can enter TWICE but they must be separate stories in separate comments! (2x is the cap, though.)
I don't qualify, but here's my Most Embarrassing Clothing Story after the cut.
I was 12 years old, living in a suburb of Chicago called Glen Ellyn, an upper-middle-class enclave where families were blonde and polite and belonged to the country club. Collars were popped and sweaters were draped over shoulders and penny loafers had a bright, shiny penny in them.
I was a girl who went through puberty at 8, with bushy eyebrows and an actual figure and a perm that looked like a small animal had died on my head. The one thing that I wanted more than anything else was just to be like everyone else.
This is probably shocking to anyone who knows me, and while I'd like the hazy patina of nostalgia to erase that particular feeling, but back then we weren't raised with things like self-esteem. We hated ourselves, and we liked it!
(This is where I shake my fist and tell you damn kids to get off my lawn)
It was then that I begged my mother to purchase me a white pair of pants that would be worn with a turquoise pastel shirt (which was not emblazoned with a polo player or an alligator, much to my chagrin) and a jaunty sweater of the same hue that could be wrapped around my shoulders. Along with my topsiders, I had my head-to-toe uniform of a Preppy Person. Preppy People were popular! I was dressed like a Preppy Person! I could be popular!
The outfit hung in my closet, like fancy bottle of champagne for the junior high set, waiting for a special occasion.
A few days later, SlackMom and I were heading into the city to take me bathing suit shopping. Shopping for a swimsuit is almost always a nightmare of anyone, but when you're a 12 year old with an hourglass figure, it's an exquisite form of torture. SlackMom suggested Marshall Field's in the city and lunch, and I happily agreed.
As we sat on the upper level of the double-decker commuter train that headed east into Chicago...
...I got my period.
I stepped off that train with my jaunty sweater tied around my waist and a bunch of scratchy towels from the train's pee-stained bathroom shoved in my underwear. I was embarrassed - not because I had got my period in white pants but because I looked absolutely ridiculous.
SlackMom took me to Marshall Field's to get new pants and a swimsuit, and I vowed to dress however the hell I wanted.
We didn't even belong to the fucking Country Club, anyway.
Please feel free to spread the news!
#gapborntofit
