My Fashion Diva

I will do a lot of things to spend time around a beautiful woman. Lately, my vice has been pulling me into fashion boutiques that have belts that would push the limits of my paycheck. I feel like I am an impostor every time I enter these stores, but I cannot help it because they are all populated by gorgeous and fashionable women that sit smiling behind the counter. They possess the edgy but not necessarily intelligent demeanor of a person who confidently believes that they are more fashionable than you are. It why it is difficult to dub Tyra Banks as "smug" because one wants so desperately to presume that with smugness comes wit, but anytime Tyra Banks ventures to comment beyond the realm of fashion, the glaring absence of wit becomes painfully obvious. She knows she's beautiful and well dressed, and this grants a level of unique authority that few of us commoners may challenge. Fashion divas, unlike police officers who have authority because of title or college professors who have authority through education, have authority simply because we - the slobbering and obedient males - give it to them. As a result, I sit sheepishly on the bench in a changing room trying on a $175 pair of jeans that I have absolutely no intention of purchasing solely so that I may bask in the glow of a fashion diva. I sit examining my white socks against a rug that cost more than my car. I can hear the girl chatting on her cell phone outside the changing room. She is dumb, and I know that, but all she has to do is say "try this on" and plop something over the door and I am hostage for another 30 minutes, unable to say no.