The Lonely Girl Guide to Sartorial Matters

Picture the scene: It's 8:20 a.m., and you, Lonely Girl, should have left for work at 8:15. You're standing in front of your closet, befuddled. You wish it was 1815 so you could call in your ladies' maid, who would bring with her a lovely cream-colored poplin gown with delicate little sprigs of flowers all over it. Then you could call your other ladies' maid who would pop in to do up your hair. Come to think of it, you wouldn't have had to go to work either. And now it's 8:25 and you're still not dressed.

This. Won't. Do.

So it's Poppycock to the rescue, with the definitive Lonely Girl guide to properly dressing yourself for every occasion.

***

First things first, Lonely Girl, we need to start off with a comprehensive list of clothes items to be avoided at all costs.

- PANTS SUBSTITUTIONS

I think you know what I mean, but just in case you don't, here you go. There are several items of clothing that parts of the western world have begun to treat as pants, which are most certainly NOT pants. These include, but are by no means restricted to: leggings, tights, hotpants, and, above all things, underwear. This is a relatively easy one to avoid. If you know that you're not wearing a skirt or a dress, look at yourself in the mirror and ask this one simple question: "Am I wearing pants?" If the answer is no, it's back to the closet with you. (A trickier item is harem pants, which tries to deceive you by putting 'pants' in the name. If you're unsure, add this question: "Is there enough room in my pants for an incontinence garment?" That should do the trick.

- STANDING SHOES

Standing shoes are the sort of shoes that Lonely Girls often covet. They are generally too tall, too tight, and too expensive: too everything that matters in a shoe. And most importantly, nearly impossible to walk in without the assistance of a cane or the arm of a slow-moving friend. You will try them on in the store, and ooh and aah as you turn this way and that before the three way mirror. Stop it. Stop it now. These shoes are only good for standing, and only for half an hour at a time, as your back will soon give out. So if you have some sort of bizarre security job where you only work in twenty minute shifts and aren't required to go after anyone or anything, go ahead, although I doubt this job will pay for those shoes. Otherwise...alright, one pair a year.

- HATS

Now now now, settle down, I didn't say ALL hats. Winter hats, for example, fine and dandy, as long as they're not made of fur or decorated with pretend animal ears. You're not seven, after all. Sun hats, also acceptable, as long as it's actually sunny outside and you're actually outside in it.

I'm talking about all-the-time hats. Fedoras, cowboy hats, bowler hats, Greek fisherman hats, newsboy caps, stocking caps, and anything with the vaguest of Isabella Blow-ish pretensions. The problem is that at some point throughout the day, you will inevitably realize that you look stupid in said hat, but by that point it will be too late, because you will have irrevocable hat-hair. You will be too embarrassed to keep the hat on, but too ashamed to take the hat off, so you will go home, drink a bottle of red wine, eat an entire box of chocolates, and fall asleep with mascara streaming down your face. I'm just trying to prevent that, Lonely Girl. No hats.

- JUMPSUITS

Are you really that lazy that you need your shirt and pants sewn together? No. You are not. So skip it, likewise anything going by the name "romper", because if we give into that one, it's a slippery slope until we're all wearing "onesies".

- SHIRTS WITHOUT BRAS

I know, you've seen everyone else doing it. "But Poppycock," you say, "Even the store mannequins are going without bras on their perky plastic boobs." Take a look at the whole picture, Lonely Girl. The store mannequin is also going without a head, hands, or feet that fit into shoes. So unless it's one a'them fancy dresses where you're encouraged to get away with it, don't.

You are not a Hollywood starlet (and bless you for that, you don't want to star in two romantic comedies and then wind up selling crystal meth to your colleagues), you are not an ageing New Age artist with flowing grey locks (and if you are, what are you doing here? Get thyself to Eileen Fisher), you are not a teenager (I'm not even going to address you). You are a Lonely Girl, and Lonely Girls remember what their mothers have told them: Try and eat at least one green vegetable a day, wait for him to call you, be nicer to your brother, and no matter how tiny you may think you are, wear a bra.

- THOSE BIG STUPID BUG-EYED SUNGLASSES THAT THE OLSEN TWINS WEAR

If you need that one explained to you, you might not actually be a Lonely Girl.

***

Alright, now that we're done with things to steer completely clear of, let's take a look at some safe Lonely Girl options. As you well know, the most glaring problem that the Lonely Girl suffers from is her tendency to overdo it. At this precise moment, there is a member of Poppycock Enterprises whose closet contains, among other things: a pink plastic mini-dress, a blue and white Gothic Lolita costume, and a pair of lug-soled, plaid Mary Janes that say "Lucky" on one shoe and "Girl" on the other. The other member of Poppycock once wore a nightgown under a dress in lieu of a slip. To a job interview (which she consequently got, so, kudos anyway).

The point is, Lonely Girls too often enthuse over an outfit in private without really considering the consequences of public viewing. Lonely Girls have enough problems as it is, they should feel confident of going out into the world at large where people will hopefully think, "Hey, that girl over there sure is strange, but darn it all if she doesn't have a smart get-up on!" Or something along those lines.

A Lonely Girl will never look like the rest, so why should she try? Chain stores are all well and good for some items, but the day a Lonely Girl is kitted out head to toe in Banana Republic is the day a Lonely Girl will be taken away screaming by men in little white coats. Vintage clothing is nice, of course, but please, one piece at a time. You do not want to end up reeking of mothballs or looking like your grandmother. Who probably smelled of mothballs. Sometimes you may have the impulse to wear something childish, like, say, a pair of tights with one green leg and one pink leg, or an extra large tee-shirt from Gap Kids. This is all well and good, but moderation is key. The same goes with patterns. Clashing is meant to be very trendy these days, but the Lonely Girl doesn't do it because it's trendy, she does it, like Ronaldinho, just because she likes it. Try and walk that line somewhere in the middle, Lonely Girl, between trendy and tv test pattern.

Fashion magazines often talk about Must-Haves and Necessities and Things Every Right Thinking Woman Can't Live without If She Has Any Intention of Ever Finding Love or Happiness. This is not that. This is, Things a Lonely Girl Could Stand to Have Around.

1. How about a business suit? You know, for interviews and such? That way you don't have to wear your nightgown. You might feel like you're dressing up for Halloween like some sort of businessy-dominatrix, but once you've landed the job, you can put it back in the closet where it can't frighten you any more.

2. A nice pair of jeans. If you spend more than a hundred dollars, your Lonely Girl membership might be revoked. Just find a pair free of tricks or gadgets or zippers in mystifying places, that neither draw nor detract attention from your rear sector. Something that might inspire a thoughtful young man to say, "Gee, I wish I had a swing like that on my back porch!"

3. An elegant coat. Blue coats with toggles are all well and good for regular adventuring, but not so when the Lonely Girl is invited somewhere respectable, like the opera, or a fancy wine bar, or to a state dinner. It should probably be black, and I'm afraid it should lack a hood. You can do it.

4. A blazer. The wonderful thing about blazers is that they give any and everyone the distinct impression that the wearer is a grownup. Try to resist the ones with elbow patches, as this lessens the effect. You can still wear it with your tee-shirt and Converse, if you must.

5. A knock-down, drag-out, very sexy dress. Now, your mother is not going to be happy about that one. But just refer her to the section on Shirts without Bras, and she'll feel better that you at least took some of her advice. Pick your favorite feature and go shopping for a dress that displays it to its best advantage. No, not your ankles. Pick another. If you are careful with your resources, this can even be an expensive dress, if you like. You deserve it! Note: this dress needs to be saved for a bona fide date. Otherwise you'll just look slutty.

***

The thing is, Lonely Girl, you are entitled to wear whatever you want. But it is about time that Lonely Girls everywhere banded together in solidarity, finally possessing the courage to say things to one another like, "No, I don't think you should wear that out" or "Why shouldn't you have a yellow rain slicker and matching boots with handles? Of course you should!"

We here at Poppycock would never, ever want a Lonely Girl to blend in with the crowd. We're just helping you to camouflage a little bit until it's just the right time for the Gothic Lolita dress to come out of the closet.

Now get out there and get dressed.

A Poppycockian Intrigue

"No! No! I am positively not here!" Professor De Busque shouted in a rather agitated manner, rushing over to the Trollope and giving him an angry tug before disappearing off into the house. Professor P'ohlig looked over at Maude, who had caused all of the trouble by saying that she was wanted on the telephone.

"Whatever do you think all that was about?" Molly said, patting down her hair for a lost pencil that never did reappear.

Maude shook her head and uncovered the mouthpiece to say, "I'm most apologetic, I'm sure, Father, but there's a sort of a commotion going on at the moment and Professor De Busque seems to have gotten away from us in the affray....yes, of course I shall tell her that you called."

"Not Father Inigo again!" Molly said in amazement as Maude put down the receiver. "I do believe that something is afoot there, Maudie, that's the fifth time today!"

Maude nodded. "And he sounded more than a little distressed the last three times," she said with a knowing raise of her eyebrows as she went back to the task that had been interrupted by the phone call, dusting the Professors writing surfaces with a very lovely set of feather dusters that had been given to Poppycock by the makers of Masterpiece Theatre. Later on in the day there was to be a Poppycock showing of "Upstairs, Downstairs", Season Nine, in which the dusters themselves appeared.

Molly gave a sharp little nod of her pointy little chin, resolved. "I knew something was awry when two dozen roses arrived this morning for her rather than just the usual tulips. Maude, I think we must close up for the day and get this problem sorted. We must tread carefully, and we're going to need some help. Let's see..." she said, going over to the bursting bookshelves and having a little rummage. "Lawrence, Bronte, Shakespeare, Hardy, all excellent guides on how to ruin a romance. We'll leaf through a few of these to see what we need to avoid."

Maude put down the duster just in time to catch the first edition "Mrs. Dalloway" that Molly threw at her. "But I don't understand, I mean, I can see that we need to know what to avoid, but how will we know what we should do the might help Emily?"

"Mr. Periwinkle's due in just a few moments," Molly said, glancing at the grandfather clock, newly draped with a stuffed snake from the estate of Rudyard Kipling, for Poppycock's work on a kinder, gentler version of "White Man's Burden". She took a velvet ribbon (that Lytton Strachey's niece had worn for her first disastrous wedding) from around her neck and tossed it and the key on it to Maude. Maude looked alarmed, and Molly's visage was similarly grim. "Yes, Maudie. Tell him to go down to the cellar. I'm afraid we're going to require the Jane Austen."

***

"Oh, but I just don't know!" Emily moaned. "Of course, he's very kind and gentle--"

"And handsome!" Maude piped up.

"Yes, that too, and he's ever so helpful and thoughtful--"

"And pious!" Molly shouted, sloshing just the tiniest bit of wine out of her teacup. Emily shot her a vaguely dirty look.

"Yes, and that," she said drily. Then she slumped her pretty shoulders again, and pulled a little tighter the angora shawl that Maude had woven from one of the rabbits willed her by John Updike. "But he doesn't....he's not...."

"Emilia De Busque," Mr. Periwinkle said haughtily, lifting his pinkie finger as he savored a sip of one of the last bottles of Ernest Hemingway's brandy, "If you mention Mr. Darcy one more time, I will tell Professor P'ohlig to farm you out to edit Harlequin romance novels."

"Oh, Mr. Periwinkle, I do wish you'd behave," Molly huffed, and then turned her attentions back to the bigger problem at hand. "Look here, though, Emily, the thing about Mr. Darcy is that at the beginning even Elizabeth didn't know that he was Mr. Darcy!"

Emily looked up, bleary-eyed, and Maude passed her another handkerchief. "I've absolutely no idea what you're on about."

Molly smushed herself into the large leather chair next to Emily. "It's what happens in all of the books, dear! At the beginnings, the fellows who seem, well, not exactly what they were after, turn out to be just the thing! Dull Darcy, boring Edmund, old Colonel Brandon, unsuitable Wentworth, and persnickety Mr. Knightley! It just takes a little time. I doubt old Jane ever heard the phrase "love at first sight", but I don't doubt she would have put it down as absolute twaddle if she had."

"But how can you all lecture me so?" Emily pouted. "Especially you, Molly. I do believe you loved Mr. Denning madly from his first 'ello."

Molly blushed hotly. "Well, er, that was a special case. I've always been more of a Hardy girl myself. And you know how they end up! Drowned!"

"Girls, you're beginning to go in circles!" Mr. Periwinkle trilled. "Or is the brandy speaking? Anyway. Here's the thing of it: Love must happen the way it happens. All at once or little by little or never at all. And one must simply wait and see. There's no point rushing about, if things are meant to be then there's no way around them. My dear," he turned a little too sharply here and nearly fell into Emily's lap, but managed to right himself. "Father Inigo is indeed a worthy young man, but only time will tell if your affections wend the same way as his. For now, accept his roses and enjoy his frivolities. You should have an admirer. If someday you realize that your feelings for him are of a more...shall we say, "Manon des Sources" flavor, well, that shall be dealt with when the time comes."

Apart from his unusual proclivity for making obscure references to mid-twentieth century French novels, Mr. Periwinkle really could be quite sage sometimes.

***

"Did you have a nice time? Come and sit," Molly patted the carpet next to her, and Emily curled up in front of the fire. The flames flickered a charming reflection on their white nightgowns, a gift of thanks from a descendant of Louisa May Alcott, just a month after Poppycock had completely revamped the plot of "Little Women" to make it a little less twee. AND they let Jo and Laurie get married, while Amy ended up an old maid. Anyways, Molly and Emily sat in their nightgowns before the fire with mugs of hot milk and rehashed Emily's night out with Father Inigo.

"And after a lovely dinner we thought we might go dancing, but Father was wearing his clerical collar, so we decided on a lovely moonlit stroll along the lake instead." Emily put her dreamy drowsy head down onto a cushioned footstool. "He really is a darling, and I think someday I might....or I might not...but for now it doesn't matter. I'm just going to flit about in party dresses and dainty shoes for a while and not give it another thought."

"I think that's an excellent idea," Molly declared. "Now, who wants their hair braided?" And the two professors of Poppycock Industries stayed up late into the starry night, talking of what might and what could and what may, and not a word of what never could have been.