James Woods Cannibals Ate My Uncle Shirt

Product Description

Daylight that mythical James Woods Cannibals Ate My Uncle Shirt creature mostly glimpsed out of the office window in the 27 months since Christmas, now stretches into the evenings. On the street, the candy-sweet chime of the ice-cream van harmonises with the lazy hum of Lime bikes. This can mean only one thing. The time has come. You open your wardrobe and reach for a floral dress. It is a rite of spring. Except that every year this precious moment is tarnished, just a little bit, by the voice in your head that insists on snarkily quoting The Devil Wears Prada. You know the line. “Florals? For spring? Groundbreaking,” says fashion magazine editor Miranda Priestly, withering a million ditsy prints on the vine without even raising her voice. But you know what? I want to wear a floral print dress when spring springs. So sue me. It is not reinventing the wheel, I get that, but it’s not supposed to be. Florals for spring isn’t about fashion, which is why fashion people are sniffy about them. Florals for spring is a ritual, a marker of time passing, a celebration of having got through another winter. Like taking the umbrella out of your bag and replacing it with a pair of sunglasses, it is as much a statement of hope as of expectation.

James Woods Cannibals Ate My Uncle Shirt, hoodie, sweater, longsleeve and ladies t-shirt

Unisex tshirt

Women’s tshirt

Longsleeve tshirt

Sweaters

Hoodies

Fully on the James Woods Cannibals Ate My Uncle Shirt dress barely covers my chest – I can’t lean, bend or jump without flashing my reflection, and any large steps cause the super-high thigh slit to rise dangerously close to my ass. Standing still, though, I look good: sexy, trendy, youthful. But I quickly discover that the dress is too tight to pull over my head. How did I get in here? I shimmy and curse until I’m able to wrench the dress off me, where it springs back, tauntingly, to its original shape. Laid flat on the floor, the form is like a cartoon body: a perfect hourglass, smooth and dramatically curving. My new Shein clothes lie in a crumpled pile on my living room floor for a week. I can’t figure out what to do with them. Neither garment is particularly wearable, but the hassle of returning the pieces (or donating them, or selling them to a thrift store) seems absurd when they cumulatively cost me less than $15 to begin with. The idea of folding them up and placing them in my dresser alongside my other clothing feels defeating. I think briefly about trying to sew them into something new, but again – the hassle. Mostly I don’t think about them at all. The garments cost so little that I don’t feel pressure to make them fit my wardrobe, or my life. I’ve already forgotten why I wanted these particular clothes in the first place.