[1]
Earlier in the aughts, as I was about to relocate from San Francisco to L.A. for a job, I wondered if I’d be able to hold onto my core values amid all the glitter. A film colleague, who lived in a sweet cottage near Venice Beach, told me emphatically, “within six months of moving, you’ll be wearing sweats to the movies.” I laughed it off, and assured him that day would NEVER come.
Eight years later, it has been a slippery slope. What started out as a “sweats ONLY in the house and around the block walking the dog” policy, has now expanded to include the grocery store, the gas station, the dry cleaners, the Post Office, the car wash, the bagel place and just last night, picking up some Chinese food to go.
I love this illustration by British artist Olly Moss [1]. The tiny text after the asterisk reads, Only acceptable outdoors if you’re participating in a sporting activity and it’s too cold to wear shorts.