We'll always have the Bicycle Dress.

Anthropologie, we need to talk.  I think we've been seeing too much of each other. It's not you, it's me.   You've been great, really.  I remember my very first Anthropologie catalog.  I thought, "Who would ever dress like this?" but by the time the second catalog came I began to see the possibilities.  Every day, getting dressed would be like putting on a costume.  Who could I be?  A painter in Paris in 1928?  A recent graduate of a buttoned-up secretarial school?  A 1950's movie star?  A Palm Beach socialite circa 1963?

We've had some good times and I will always remember some of the outfits we created.

The Woman having a nervous breakdown blouse:

The "this is what I wear on my yacht" pants:

The "your ass looks incredibly hot in that skirt" skirt:

The "I'm not afraid of birthdays" blouse:

The Drinking and Driving Dress:

The Slouching Through Rome clogs:

The "This is what you wear to an elementary school graduation, motherfuckers" dress:

The "Getting the side eye from the other ladies at the barbecue" dress:

The Bicycle Dress. My god, the Bicycle dress!

I wore it to the Charlottesville Dogwood Festival, where it is comme il faut to be toothless and display one's muffin top with pride.  I ran into friends.  They very kindly did not raise their eyebrows at my outrageous attire.  Perhaps they were distracted by the carnie with an abdominal mass the size of a Toyota Prius.  We discussed his health care options.  "I'm sure he's getting it checked out," my friend said.  "I hear they have an amazing health plan."

I've been seeing a lot of J. Crew lately.  It's where I bought my job interview suit, my dozens of identical navy blue and black tee shirts, my chinos, my cardigan for over-airconditioned summer restaurants.  J. Crew clothes may lack imagination, but they'll never have the other ladies thinking, "who does she think she is?"

Anthropologie, I hope we can be friends.  I'd like to visit you from time to time, like if I'm every invited to a garden party.