A word, if I may, on some of the fashion I encountered in Las Vegas (and I will not be posting any ‘People of Wal-Mart’ style photos – I’m not feeling that cruel). The fashion of Vegas was like a glitzy version of the Jersey Shore, and that’s meant to be every bit as horrendous as it sounds. The ladies – if we can call them such – were in dresses so tiny that they often rose above their thong-threaded ass cracks. The boobs were barely contained. The make-up was… heavy and excessive. Don’t even get me started on the shoes. All I’m going to say is that if you can’t walk in high heels, don’t fucking walk in high heels. That looks worse than no heels at all, and all that hunching is not doing anything for your posture or back.
As for the guys, they fared no better. Board shorts and a tank top (or no top at all, when there really should have been), or jeans and a plaid button-down shirt were the only outfits that any of the gentlemen seemed able to pull off (when they weren’t pulling out a beer from a 12-pack in the doorway of a Walgreens). I’m gagging just thinking about it.
Bottom line, the fashion I witnessed was just one big sad, sorry mess. I expected glamour, I expected glitz, I expected excess bordering on sleaze, but what I found was just pathetic. Maybe it was the heat, maybe it was the venue, but whatever the case, it was dismal.
I opted for casual summer garb, but turned it out with a couple of jackets and some pastel-hued pants. It turns out I could have gotten by with swim trunks and a tank-top with nary a raised eyebrow – and I’m talking for dinner and shows. But really, what could I have expected from the preferred playground of pop-culture pseudo-celebrities like Paris Hilton and Kim Kardashian?
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