
Pleather...what do we think? Maybe I should say feather, since the french inspired faux feels far more refined than the emblem of modernity, plastic, but that's beside the point. I say fabu because it looks like leather but with none of the guilty aftertaste of dead animal hide. Not that I don't wear leather. But I shouldn't. But I do.
So a few days ago I decided to debut my adorable new black leather jacket. I was, and still am, a little worried it might make me look minorly too lesbionic, but hey, it's the price I pay for dressing like a bonafied badass. Anyways, I put together quite the cute little outfit, pull on the piece-de-resistance jacket, and head for the mean streets of NYC. Mean streets, like the stepmom from the LL Parent Trap mean. Here's why--the city flipping stole my idea! Not only did I see something like ten black leather jackets within my first five minutes dehors, but I actually saw THE EXACT ONE I was sporting. Blaspheme! Granted, it was from H&M...but still, city, cut me a break.