Lucy MacLean okey dokey girl shirt

Product Description

But best of all Lucy MacLean okey dokey girl shirt of course, is to look in your own wardrobe. Besides, the first florals of spring are tempered, for practical reasons, with the safety-net layers necessary on days when a flimsy dress isn’t going to see you through. An optimistic outlook is to be commended, but leaving the house in a dress and sandals at this point in the year is pure folly. So your spring look is only partly about the floral dress itself, and partly about what you wear with it. The extra layer should be something that adds chic, not one that kills the look. So it is worth putting a little thought into the outfit as a whole instead of just putting on a dress and then, when you get cold, grabbing a random cardigan. Did you buy a sleeveless knit this winter? A tank top, or a crew neck without sleeves, or a button-through knit waistcoat? This is a newish wardrobe item for me, and for lots of us, I think. It was great in the winter: I wore mine over shirts, because you feel like you are wearing a jumper (warm and cosy) but you present to the world as wearing a shirt (crisp and dynamic). As the weather turns, a sleeveless knit is a great partner for your floral dresses. Not only does it turn a holiday-weight dress into a spring-appropriate outfit, it also gives that outfit a fashion point of view, because the sleeveless knit is very much A Thing, and therefore earmarks the wearer as someone who knows about such things. If your sleeveless knit is neutral-toned, it is also a useful way of watering down the visual impact of a print that feels a little too loud or hectic for the office.

Lucy MacLean okey dokey girl shirt, hoodie, sweater, longsleeve and ladies t-shirt

Unisex tshirt

Women’s tshirt

Longsleeve tshirt

Sweaters

Hoodies

Fully on the Lucy MacLean okey dokey girl 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.