The Perks of Being a Peasant

Top: Arizona Jeans, JCPenney

It seems like peasant tops and dresses are always in style.  Anytime anyone so much as thinks festival, boho, or Anthropologie sale rack, there they are, the ties of their wholesomely flattering drawstring necklines flowing as freely as if they'd just come from Woodstock or the compost pile of a community garden.  The popularity of the peasant aesthetic is a no-brainer.  Still, by all accounts, a peasant isn't a great thing to be. 

Dresses: Planet Gold, Macy's

Brainy or not, I fell for these farmer's daughter chic pieces priced for the proletariat (or what passes for the proletariat these days, the world having moved on from having one burlap sack per household).  I think each dress was less than fifteen dollars, although the promiscuity of my bargain hunting conquests prevents me from saying for sure.  I ordered them from the juniors section of Macy's, which gave me a thrill now that I've semi-graduated to the grown-up lady clothes known as misses.  That name's a bit insulting, don't you think?  As if a woman of a certain age with slightly more sophisticated tastes and generous proportions must be married or else.  And, by the same token, as if a svelte young thing couldn't and shouldn't be shopping for china.  So presumptuous!  Let crop top-clad coeds play house and fifty-five-year-olds troll for tail in sensible tweeds if they want to.

And yes, this time tail means men.  

Which reminds me of that Friends episode where Phoebe's dating two guys at once but complains that it's more like working in the field than playing the field.  Weirdly, this goes against what I just said about the supposed fun of stalking man meat.  But it also brings us back to the peasant thing, which is somehow both personified by and blown up by one Ms. Buffay.  

So thanks, Phoebe.  Even if you're not a peasant and your field is a park in the middle of the world's biggest city.  Your simple ways underscore wisdom, the kind best communicated through a song about a cat that reeks.  Regina Phalange has nothing on you, and not just because you married Paul Rudd.  

Princess Consuela Banana Hammock, however, is another story.