Sunday, August 29, 2010
trate as sleeve length.
I never have my sleeves on a proper shirt pulled all the way down, with cuffs buttoned; they are always rolled or pushed up, as is a sweater. In fact, I seek out bracelet-length sleeves.
As for short sleeves, the length that would make my insides dizzy from spinning like a corkscrew is the one pictured in the image above, which accompanies a story in today's NYT. For me, this length is so mumsy, so unflattering, that I could not bear to wear it, even for a minute.
Indeed, if this image from Eat Pray Love is cited as an example of p**n (the NYT characterizes the film as such), I have to ask who its audience may be. I couldn't even read the whole story because the sleeve distressed me so!