On Saturday, I choose my outfit very carefully. It is S___’s 30th birthday and he’s hosting a party to celebrate and I need to wear something that’s tight enough to make myself feel sexy (and others uncomfortable) but loose enough to remove in a moment’s notice should I be asked to throw on a pair of heels and sequined “gown” for the inevitable booger drag show. The winning selection: a black T-shirt and jeans. Imagine that!
One hour and a quart of iced tea vodka into the party, I’m standing around, minding everyone else’s business, when the male apotheosis of GLAMOUR enters the room in a garment that, at the time, could only be described in breathless sighs and seething stares of jealousy. Since then, I’ve identified the proper term for this woven wonder: JORTS.
Yes, jorts. As in, jean shorts. I haven’t seen anyone wear jean shorts since, well, yesterday, when I saw a pack of Midwestern tourists on the Metro. But I haven’t seen a GAY person wear jean shorts since, well, Latino night at Apex last week BUT THAT’S NOT THE POINT.
I am not an elitist but jorts, no. Just, no. There’s another name for jorts and it’s “boner killer.”
(Interestingly, the ever-reliable Wikipedia reveals that July 25 is National Jorts Day. Also, jorts are “extremely prevalent in the state of New Jersey, which actually leads the nation in jort sales. [citation needed]“)
Yay!! An entire post about Jorts. I’m telling you, he’s new to the scene. He must have crawled out from under a rock the day before. It’s the only explanation.
Chicago last weekend was filled with jorts for Market Days. And deep V’s.
This will not be remembered as an era of high fashion.
So are you mad because he looked good in the jorts (did he have a juicy booty)? Or because he wore them?
This is why I never go out: I couldn’t stand the fashion judgment! I’d be a wreck.