Sometimes I wonder if I will ever achieve such fame as to be asked, “Who are you wearing?”
This piece is not about who versus whom and surprise, I’m not even going to take issue (today anyway) with the grammatical incorrectness of the red carpet question: Who are you wearing?
Normally I am working in my home office with no one to notice me but two tuxedo cats. On these days, trust me, no one would want to know who I’m wearing. Okay, whom.
When I suit up for clients, I do wear brand name or designer business clothing, along with respectable accessories, which I own and aren’t on loan from Harry Winston.
But today, for example? I’m wearing a lovely pair of workout pants designed by Merona. Tomorrow I might be sitting here in something designed uniquely for me (and two million other bargain shoppers) by St. John’s Bay. No, sadly, not St. John’s Knit. St. John’s Bay. Or perhaps something from the Jaclyn Smith collection.
If you recognize these brands, then now you know the raw truth about where I shop, and why Joan Rivers or Maria Menounos won’t be stopping me anytime soon to ask me about, well, anything.
The primetime Emmys are coming up later in the month. It’s fun to see all the designer dresses and jewelry and imagine this year I am walking the red carpet right alongside John Krasinski or Jim Parsons. I hope that one day, maybe at the International Syntax Awards, a reporter will ask me, “Ms. Nymph, whom are you wearing?”
I fantasize that someday my husband and I will be rich and famous. We will be getting ready for the limo to pick us up for the premiere or awards ceremony. He’ll emerge from the bedroom, dressed for the event, I will look at him as a wife looks at her husband and ask, “is that who you’re wearing?”