|This week's cover of The New Yorker|
On Sunday, a group of friends was going to watch Purple Rain on the big screen. I don't think I'd seen it since it came out. I wasn't a kid--I was working full time and mostly expressed my Inner Eighties Kid with things like a cobalt blue wool overcoat (does anyone else remember how huge cobalt blue was in the 80s?) or a magenta and black houndstooth scarf with my boring gray tropical weight Brooks Brothers suit.
I can't remember if I dressed for the occasion. I hope I at least wore my burgundy leather jacket to the screening. But if I remember correctly, I went after work. So it was probably a suit.
At any rate, here we are, 32 years later (!) and it's my second trip to a movie theater to watch Purple Rain. Unfortunately, my purple clothes—and I do own quite a few—are mostly a winter phenomenon. Yesterday, for whatever dumb reasons the weather guys on TV would like to bore me about, it was 80 degrees. I really had to scrounge to find anything purple. I wore
with black ballerina flats. I carried
and accessorized the SHIT out of it with
My makeup included a couple of shades of violet eyeshadow I don't usually indulge myself with, a plummier-than-usual blush, and this TRANSCENDENT lipgloss.
|MAC dazzle glass in Boys Go Crazy|
which I really have no business owning. But I think His Purpleness would have approved.
Let's Go Crazy and have another shot of Boys Go Crazy!
a different blog.
Of course, I was completely outclassed by one woman in my group. She was rocking a
1) dark purple
sleeveless blouse with
that she got at a thrift shop for
4) one dollar.
But I like to think I came in second.
Purple Rain was amazing. Again. And Prince was amazing. Always.