I think we can all agree that this summer has been nothing but a big ol’ pain in the ass. Heat wave after heat wave, ridiculous storms that come out of nowhere, always looking like a sweaty hot mess … I’ve had just about enough. And when I thought my irritation levels couldn’t possibly get any higher … crop tops came into my life. Literally, every cute top I’ve seen this summer is a damn crop top. It is such a shirt tease. You see it folded and get all bright-eyed like, “yes … perfect color, perfect pattern, perfect everything … SHIRT HEAVEN ::::twirling around with said shirt in hand::::!” Only to pick it up and start noticing half the fabric is gone … which makes you want to punt the sad excuse of fabric across the room.
Apparently everybody’s doing it, though. I saw Jennifer Lawrence wearing a tribal print crop top … so I went out and bought a tribal print crop top (if you get that reference, I officially adore you) … and then I put on said crop top and realized, holy shit, self … you don’t have a trainer, NOR do you work out … henceforth you have NO right to be wearing this.
No seriously … whomever said crop tops are a “thing” this season should get a serious talking to. Because, in my eyes, the only people who can appropriately and righteously rock them are A. teeny boppers, tweens, teens, you know … “kids” these days and B. insanely ripped individuals who live for working out and consider their bodies a temple. For example I just opened the door to my temple for a garlic knot … therefore I do not fall into that category. We all make choices, people.
Don’t get me wrong, I think they look really good … on certain people. I especially love it when only about 3 inches of flesh above your belly button is exposed and the rest is covered up by said crop top and a high-waisted skirt. Like J. Law, for example, looked fantastic in a style like this at Comic-Con. But J. Law, unlike 95.4% of the American public, basically gets paid bazillions of dollars to look hot … and that properly involves a trainer.
So let me give you a little sneak peek into my brain if I was forced to wear one of these torture devices, ahem:
1. I would be freaking out that I was overly exposed. I know, it is like 3 inches of my stomach … not like my tas are out and about, but still for a girl like myself who fancies layers and the “Mary Kate Olsen look” … it would feel like I was wearing a bikini at the grocery store. I’m not a nun … but nun-ish qualities sure do come out of me when I talk crop tops.
2. Fat rolls. The minute my ass sits down, they will surface … and this is what would be happening in my head: “OMG I need to suck in my stomach. OMG is he looking at my fat roll … is my fat roll looking at him?! Okay sucking in my stomach … sucking … it … in. UGH, shit. I can’t breathe … and now I can’t talk. Maybe I’ll just smile and nod. Okay, screw it I’ll just stand up. But will people question me standing because of my fat roll?! Maybe if I sit perfectly still and slouch a little over to the right … no one will notice my fat roll. AH HA! I have it, I’ll cross my arms … yeah crossing my arms is the trick. AHHHHHH GET ME OUT OF THIS CROP TOP HELL.” ::::::And scene:::::
3. Phantom fabric syndrome. I feel as if I would be constantly pulling the crop top down, thinking I’m having some sort of weird wardrobe malfunction, when alas, I decided to intentionally expose my stomach … boom, phantom fabric syndrome.
So people, if you have cut, tan abs and not spray tanned ones like some people … go to the land of crop tops and be free. Me personally, and I’m going to go ahead and speak for every woman who enjoys carbs and garlic knots as much as me, think crop tops need to do a pencil dive back to the 80’s or something.