Okay, I love Shirley MacLaine with the red hot fiery passion of ten thousand suns (evidence: I saw the unmitigatedly dreadful Rumor Has It in the theater, just because she's in it), so when I saw this picture of her clad in a vest that appears to have been constructed from the remains of a Bill Cosby sweater circa 1985, matching canary yellow tee and trainers, and mothafuckin' parachute pants, I nearly wet myself with sheer glee. She might whip out her 5-gauge pins and entrelac your ass a scarf, or she might bust a move, bitchez. You nevah know, 'cuz that's how she rolls.
And the site whence I saw it had the temerity to label this a "fashion disaster." A fashion disaster? Are you kidding me? That ensemble is couture de génie. And Shirley doesn't give a fuck what you think.
All I want in life is to reach 74 and wear that same outfit.
Actually, I might just start wearing it now. It would be a lovely homage to the woman who's been my principal "I-don't-give-a-fuck" role model for many years now. Plus, I believe my one-billionth viewing of The Apartment would only be enhanced by wrapping my ass in parachute.
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