Wardrobe Malfunction

by Marinka on August 11, 2011

So with this whole Russian Dolls premiere attending event and my imminent inevitable celebrity, I looked in my closet and saw immediately that I was fucked.

Because none of my outfits screamed glamour. Mostly because they’re too busy screaming, “hey, who knew that Laura Ashley was still in business?!”

I quickly realized that I needed a new outfit. The only problem is that I’m taking this whole credit downgrading seriously, especially since Husbandrinka confiscated my credit cards in celebration. Since I’m not buying clothes these days, I was left with two choices: Stealing or Borrowing.

Sadly, I had to eliminate stealing, because according to the internet, you need a catsuit and also burglary tools before proceeding. Which I’d have to buy.

Look, if I had money to buy that stuff, why couldn’t I just buy a dress for Russian Dolls premiere? On the other hand, the burglary tools and catsuit would be an investment, and I could go on a huge stealing spree after I stole the dress. But eh, it seems like too much of a commitment. I’m more interested in dabbling in crime than becoming a professional. I just don’t have the ambition.

Where was I?

Yes. Stealing. I mean, borrowing.

I decided to borrow a dress.

First thing I had to do was make a list of friends who live in NYC that I could borrow a dress from. This list looked like this:



For reasons too complicated to explain in a blog post, I eliminated John.

So Ines was the winner. The benefit to that was that Ines lives two buildings away from me, and just like Sarah Palin and Russia, I can see Ines’ apartment from mine.

Hi, I emailed Ines, I got invited to a fancy event and I need to wear a fancy outfit and the only fancy thing I have is my wedding dress and I can’t wear my wedding dress because I don’t want people to think that I’m insane and also because it no longer fits. By the way, are you still in New York? Did you go away for the summer. As you friend, I want to know these things, and of course, anything else that you want to tell me. XOX, Your Friend, Marinka

Clearly moved by my evocation of friendship, Ines emailed back a mere twelve hours later and invited me over, telling me that she had an elegant number that she thought would fit me because it is from stretchy material and also shoulderless.

Because apparently Ines thinks I’m the new Brett Favre or something. I’m telling you, it’s comments like this that’ll keep Ines on friendship probation. Once I return the dress to her, that is. And assuming that I don’t need to borrow anything else.

So we made a date for me to come over and pillage her closet.

“This whole thing doesn’t make sense,” Husbandrinka said. Something about what makes me think that I can fit into Ines’ clothes.

Like Caesar before me, I went, I tried on, I borrowed.

The dress is beautiful. I will, of course, have to wear compression undergarments,and not inhale too deeply, but I think that’s a small sacrifice. I’m also worried that I will stretch out the dress so much that all of Ines’ extended family will be able to wear it simultaneously with her. But on the other hand, what outfit is totally problem-free?

And then as I was leaving, Ines handed me this:

Because in NYC, we borrow pearls from neighbors, not cups of sugar.

What? We’re on a diet!

Thank you for weighing in on who my Plus One at the Premiere should be. After counting and re-counting, Papa was the winner. Husbandrinka is, of course, devastated, but he’s pulling himself together.

I will try to tweet as much as possible during the event. And Vicki will be Live-blogging on Thursday at 10:30, so definitely watch. Because I can’t wait to discuss this at length. (I’m already traumatized because the grandmother and I are roughly the same age. Seriously, What. The. Fuck.)

One year ago ...

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{ 21 comments… read them below or add one }

August 11, 2011 at 12:47 am

Thank God for stretchy material. And good friends.


ladyday August 11, 2011 at 1:04 am

You and Papa will have a blast! Or at the very least he will give you enough fodder for ten more blogs. Same age as granny? WTF? Are they damn Gypsies, getting married at age 13?


August 11, 2011 at 9:04 am

I never seem to have appropriate shoes, which is odd, because I spend a great deal of money on shoes. Lucky, I have two friends whose feet are as big as my own, and who live close enough to share whenever I’m facing a footwear emergency.


August 11, 2011 at 9:53 am

Can Papa handle a camera? I want photos! Have a blast.


August 11, 2011 at 10:54 am

Words of advice: Make sure you can sit for an extended period of time in your dress. The last thing you want is to pass out from lack of air during a live event.


The real life sympathy would be FANTASTIC.


Lady Jennie August 11, 2011 at 11:03 am

Hey include a picture of the dress too. And Papa is his suit.


August 11, 2011 at 11:26 am

Does Papa have a track suit? This is key.


August 11, 2011 at 1:49 pm

Yes! Papa must wear a track suit!


awesome dude August 11, 2011 at 11:54 am

“Too lazy to work and too nervous to steal”, was written on the wall of the office of the social worker in Harlem in 1978.


Marinka August 11, 2011 at 12:01 pm

It’s my motto.


Tonya August 11, 2011 at 12:30 pm

My favorite part: “hey, who knew that Laura Ashley was still in business?!”

My closet screams: “does this woman even know stores exist????”


Zee August 11, 2011 at 12:36 pm

I seriously hate that “take the credit cards away” holiday. The parade sucks too.


Dawn August 11, 2011 at 12:44 pm

My closet screams “Do you ever go anywhere but funerals?” Apparently I take that whole black is slimming thing seriously.

I’m moving to NYC, here in Boston if you try to borrow something from a neighbor they don’t answer the door, never mind lend you pearls!


August 11, 2011 at 2:54 pm

Don’t you live in the same neighborhood as Gaga? She didn’t have an extra meat-dress you could borrow?


the mama bird diaries
August 11, 2011 at 9:10 pm

If you don’t show us a photo of you in the dress, I will just cry.


Rainyday August 11, 2011 at 9:20 pm

I have a good friend who has always been a bit bigger than me but who has always been able to pull off simply fantastic outfits that I wouldn’t dare wear. I’ve lost a bunch of weight since January and had to buy a new dress for my mom’s wedding. Afterwards, my friend asked if she could borrow it. I said yes, but totally swallowed my foot when I told her it was stretchy and should fit, and a few other less flattering phrases that I’m too embarrassed to remember. I didn’t even realize until later that day how incredibly hurtful my words probably were. I haven’t dared to bring it up with her since. So I’m apologizing to you for Husbandrinka’s insensitive comments. Sometimes smart people say incredibly dumb things. And sometimes people just say dumb things. Sorry. My bad.


August 11, 2011 at 11:22 pm

I’m sure your stretchy dress and pearls will go amazing with his tracksuit. I hope you took lots of photos. I’m watching the show now and loving it.


Stacey August 11, 2011 at 11:24 pm

My sister lets my borrow her dresses sometimes. Usually she hands me a couple and says, “Try these. They’re sooooo huge on me now anyway.” I want to punch her every time.


August 12, 2011 at 3:39 am

Here in Pittsburgh, people are much more likely to let you borrow their pearls than their Stealers jersey.

NYC sounds so fancy…


Athena August 12, 2011 at 8:42 am

I just turned 30, and a classmate of mine became a grandma about 6 months ago. We didn’t grow up in the sticks, nor do we live in inner city. A nice, quiet middle to upper middle class suburb. She’s SO proud. Frightening.


deborah l quinn
August 13, 2011 at 4:11 am

Thank you for your willingness to wear compression garments in the line of duty. Tis a far, far braver thing you do….all for the sake of a blogging front-line report. The last time I tried to put on some kind of spanx-thingy, the damn thing went shooting out of my hands, ricocheted across the room, and almost knocked over a lamp. True story. Too afraid to try again, I just hauled up my (regular, non compression) undies and went, squashy and jiggling, to the party. One more sartorial point: does Papa have blinding white sneakers to wear with his (velour?) track suit?


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