A word on Capitol Hill fashion

I will be the first to admit that I do not have the most instinctive fashion sense. People tell me I look simple when I think I'm pushing it. I never shop at trendy boutiques. I cut up my fashion magazines to make collages. I like Dolce and Gabbana ads because they always look like a box of crayons melted on some pretty girls.

I've never been called trashy, though, and I hate to see a nice young lady gawked at because she's not aware of the dramatic effect her coochie cutters have had on the men at QFC. For the most part hoochie mamas are asking for it, but when they're swept up in a tidal wave of turbo slut confusion I have empathy. There's a phenomenon occurring here on Capitol Hill that seems to be Broadway-exclusive; it's a voluntary uniform eclipsing one girl after another. It's dumpster diva.

This look has been brewing since about December. The pieces appeared on their own at first. What a crazy headband, you'd think. Fishnets with jean capris, interesting. Fifteen fake-gold necklaces at once. But then these random accessories started popping up at the same time on the same girl. Maybe they were worried their clothes would get stolen from their apartments while they were at work so they just started wearing all of their clothes at the same time. There is some kind of competition among girls here to wear as much of the same shit as everyone else is wearing simultaneously. And it's so ugly. There are several components that, on their own are funky, but all together look like an all-nighter on Aurora's a-brewin'. If I may:

Capitol Hill Dress Code for Women
You must own open-toed wedge pumps that are too small for your feet. If your toes do not appear painfully pinched and red, or if your gait even remotely resembles how you walk barefoot, then your shoes are too big and you should find some that remind you of nineteenth century foot binding.

You really must have a shaggy, fried hair-do, black or blond (or swirl) only.

You may only shop at Urban Outfitters and Red Light.

You must own come-fuck-me boots and they must have obviously cost less than $50.

Your jeans have to be so tight that an observer wonders how you got them over the wide part of your foot.

Skirts must obey the aforementioned coochie cutter rule.

You should wear as much jewelry as you can all the time. When you look like a spoof of 1980's rocker chicks you probably have enough on.

You have to wear really big sunglasses, but not in a come hither/ stay away Jackie O way. No. In a Boogie Nights porn film on the couch in sneakers way.

In short: you should look like a trashy wannabe diva but walk around with an extremely haughty facial expression that communicates your desire of becoming a rock star's girlfriend.

Too bad he's going to think you're a hooker.