Midtown SKIMS and McCarthyism
All in a weekend's work!
FRESHMAN YEAR OF LIFE
Your (un)definitive guide to the first year after graduation
The blind (me) will be leading the blind (you, if you’ve found yourself on this substack) in a series of conversations about being adults, kind of.
Last week, my roommate’s out of town friend, Elle, left a SKIMS shopping bag in our “living room.” SKIMS being the Kardashian-owned shapewear brand, and “living room” being a nice word for the ambiguous space in our apartment where none of us actively sleep.
When I first saw the SKIMS bag, days before my birthday, I peeked inside. Had my roommates conspired to secretly gift me a 34B Super Push-Up Bra in the shade Onyx? Unexpected, but sometimes it’s good to get an outside perspective on how you can improve your look.
“No, Elle went shopping and left her stuff here, she’s picking it up later today.”
Alas, no suggestive roommate gifts for me. But probably for the best, as Onyx would’ve been a bit dark for my skin tone. However, as a victim of marketing, I now had to look into SKIMS for myself.
So, the next time I had a free afternoon, I endeavored to venture to the mother lode (their 5th Ave flagship store).
Had I done my research and known this journey would take me to Midtown, I probably—no, definitely—would’ve ordered online.
This realization hit me as I waddled through paralegals and investment bankers in search of a Strapless Shortie Everyday Bodysuit in the shade Ecru. Still, I thought that once I entered the store, I might gain a modicum of privacy.
But no, the SKIMS flagship store is no place for Shopper-Kardashian Confidentiality. The entire exterior is glass, allowing outsiders to watch women of all shapes, colors, and sizes swarm around underwear of all shapes, colors, and sizes.
As I clustered up with some other 5’6” Beiges to admire a rack (no pun intended) of No Show Push Up Lace Thong Bra Whatevers, I took a moment to consider the ginormous headless statue of a naked woman in the center of the store:
As I was staring at the statue, I felt the strongest sense of… deja vu? Semiotics? What was this statue reminding me of?
Oh, yeah, Christ the Redeemer in Rio de Janeiro:
This is not to say I had a religious experience at SKIMS Midtown. More so, I realized raking through Hip Hugging Boy Shorts in an effort to put together a 3 for $30 bundle was just going to be more mentally involved than I’d initially imagined.
After my afternoon at SKIMS Midtown, I traveled just blocks away to see George Clooney in his Broadway debut—Good Night, and Good Luck.
Well Good Night and Good Luck to me and my friend Nicole, who knew nothing about this play until we were seated at Winter Garden Theatre on 1634 Broadway.
Nicole and I had spent the hour before the play feasting on Happy Hour sushi deals in Times Square (famous last words). Then, because she is tall and blonde, I hid behind her while she navigated Hell (the part of Times Square where the breakdancers, selfie stick people, and sad Elmo cosplayers collide).
Once we found Nicole’s aunt (who had gifted her the tickets for Christmas after Nicole offhandedly remarked “Oh! George Clooney’s coming to Broadway! ) and settled into our seats, we started to notice that we were unusually young and hot.
How could this be, when presumably everyone else was here to see one of the most attractive onscreen actors up close and personal too? Why did everyone in the audience look so… serious? Nicole struck up a conversation with the sixty-something on her left, who’d traveled with her husband from Bethesda to attend the show.
“What’s this play about, again?” Nicole whispered while gesturing at the stage.
The husband—who up until this point had been silently flipping through his Playbill—experienced what looked to be a small aneurysm. His head turned a full 180 degrees towards us, like a snowy owl, and he shouted, “MCCARTHYISM.”
Nicole and I nodded politely and sat straight back in our seats. We gave each other a quick glance that read, “Okkkkk… so I guess this play’s about, like, political dissidents?”
In the end, the Bethesda Husband was right (duh)— the play was no Ocean’s Eleven.
We didn’t get what we came for (George Clooney’s make-up artist had gone to town on making him look old and weathered), but the experience was worthwhile, educational, and mentally involved—much like my time at SKIMS Midtown.
To compare and contrast my experiences at SKIMS Midtown and Good Night, and Good Luck, I’ve made the following venn diagram:
So I guess this post could really double as a guide for How to Spend a Weekend in Midtown. In which case, if you follow my lead, you’ll soon be sitting for a very valuable history lesson— and looking snatched all the while.