I wrote about my mom, @lauriesimmons on Substack. Link in bio to read and subscribe 🫶 “I don’t dress like Laurie. I don’t have her eye or her taste or her body or her hair. I have never taken one accessory off before leaving the house. I have never worn a “pop of color.” Even in the depths of sadness, I am dressed as if I work at a Claire’s Accessories in the Scranton Mall circa 1992. But sometimes I’ll see a woman in the street- she could be eighteen or eighty- who reminds me of her. Something about her low ponytail, or the boxy shape of her turtleneck, or her long sculptural necklace or her jeans skimming the top of her canvas tennis shoes. And I stare at her and she probably thinks “what’s this lady’s damage?” until- 9 times out of ten- I go ahead and fuck it, I say it: “I just want you to know, you look fabulous. My mother would love your outfit.””
I wrote about my mom, @lauriesimmons on Substack. Link in bio to read and subscribe 🫶 “I don’t dress like Laurie. I don’t have her eye or her taste or her body or her hair. I have never taken one accessory off before leaving the house. I have never worn a “pop of color.” Even in the depths of sadness, I am dressed as if I work at a Claire’s Accessories in the Scranton Mall circa 1992. But sometimes I’ll see a woman in the street- she could be eighteen or eighty- who reminds me of her. Something about her low ponytail, or the boxy shape of her turtleneck, or her long sculptural necklace or her jeans skimming the top of her canvas tennis shoes. And I stare at her and she probably thinks “what’s this lady’s damage?” until- 9 times out of ten- I go ahead and fuck it, I say it: “I just want you to know, you look fabulous. My mother would love your outfit.””
I wrote about my mom, @lauriesimmons on Substack. Link in bio to read and subscribe 🫶 “I don’t dress like Laurie. I don’t have her eye or her taste or her body or her hair. I have never taken one accessory off before leaving the house. I have never worn a “pop of color.” Even in the depths of sadness, I am dressed as if I work at a Claire’s Accessories in the Scranton Mall circa 1992. But sometimes I’ll see a woman in the street- she could be eighteen or eighty- who reminds me of her. Something about her low ponytail, or the boxy shape of her turtleneck, or her long sculptural necklace or her jeans skimming the top of her canvas tennis shoes. And I stare at her and she probably thinks “what’s this lady’s damage?” until- 9 times out of ten- I go ahead and fuck it, I say it: “I just want you to know, you look fabulous. My mother would love your outfit.””
I wrote about my mom, @lauriesimmons on Substack. Link in bio to read and subscribe 🫶 “I don’t dress like Laurie. I don’t have her eye or her taste or her body or her hair. I have never taken one accessory off before leaving the house. I have never worn a “pop of color.” Even in the depths of sadness, I am dressed as if I work at a Claire’s Accessories in the Scranton Mall circa 1992. But sometimes I’ll see a woman in the street- she could be eighteen or eighty- who reminds me of her. Something about her low ponytail, or the boxy shape of her turtleneck, or her long sculptural necklace or her jeans skimming the top of her canvas tennis shoes. And I stare at her and she probably thinks “what’s this lady’s damage?” until- 9 times out of ten- I go ahead and fuck it, I say it: “I just want you to know, you look fabulous. My mother would love your outfit.””
I wrote about my mom, @lauriesimmons on Substack. Link in bio to read and subscribe 🫶 “I don’t dress like Laurie. I don’t have her eye or her taste or her body or her hair. I have never taken one accessory off before leaving the house. I have never worn a “pop of color.” Even in the depths of sadness, I am dressed as if I work at a Claire’s Accessories in the Scranton Mall circa 1992. But sometimes I’ll see a woman in the street- she could be eighteen or eighty- who reminds me of her. Something about her low ponytail, or the boxy shape of her turtleneck, or her long sculptural necklace or her jeans skimming the top of her canvas tennis shoes. And I stare at her and she probably thinks “what’s this lady’s damage?” until- 9 times out of ten- I go ahead and fuck it, I say it: “I just want you to know, you look fabulous. My mother would love your outfit.””
I wrote about my mom, @lauriesimmons on Substack. Link in bio to read and subscribe 🫶 “I don’t dress like Laurie. I don’t have her eye or her taste or her body or her hair. I have never taken one accessory off before leaving the house. I have never worn a “pop of color.” Even in the depths of sadness, I am dressed as if I work at a Claire’s Accessories in the Scranton Mall circa 1992. But sometimes I’ll see a woman in the street- she could be eighteen or eighty- who reminds me of her. Something about her low ponytail, or the boxy shape of her turtleneck, or her long sculptural necklace or her jeans skimming the top of her canvas tennis shoes. And I stare at her and she probably thinks “what’s this lady’s damage?” until- 9 times out of ten- I go ahead and fuck it, I say it: “I just want you to know, you look fabulous. My mother would love your outfit.””
I wrote about my mom, @lauriesimmons on Substack. Link in bio to read and subscribe 🫶 “I don’t dress like Laurie. I don’t have her eye or her taste or her body or her hair. I have never taken one accessory off before leaving the house. I have never worn a “pop of color.” Even in the depths of sadness, I am dressed as if I work at a Claire’s Accessories in the Scranton Mall circa 1992. But sometimes I’ll see a woman in the street- she could be eighteen or eighty- who reminds me of her. Something about her low ponytail, or the boxy shape of her turtleneck, or her long sculptural necklace or her jeans skimming the top of her canvas tennis shoes. And I stare at her and she probably thinks “what’s this lady’s damage?” until- 9 times out of ten- I go ahead and fuck it, I say it: “I just want you to know, you look fabulous. My mother would love your outfit.””
I wrote about my mom, @lauriesimmons on Substack. Link in bio to read and subscribe 🫶 “I don’t dress like Laurie. I don’t have her eye or her taste or her body or her hair. I have never taken one accessory off before leaving the house. I have never worn a “pop of color.” Even in the depths of sadness, I am dressed as if I work at a Claire’s Accessories in the Scranton Mall circa 1992. But sometimes I’ll see a woman in the street- she could be eighteen or eighty- who reminds me of her. Something about her low ponytail, or the boxy shape of her turtleneck, or her long sculptural necklace or her jeans skimming the top of her canvas tennis shoes. And I stare at her and she probably thinks “what’s this lady’s damage?” until- 9 times out of ten- I go ahead and fuck it, I say it: “I just want you to know, you look fabulous. My mother would love your outfit.””
I wrote about my mom, @lauriesimmons on Substack. Link in bio to read and subscribe 🫶 “I don’t dress like Laurie. I don’t have her eye or her taste or her body or her hair. I have never taken one accessory off before leaving the house. I have never worn a “pop of color.” Even in the depths of sadness, I am dressed as if I work at a Claire’s Accessories in the Scranton Mall circa 1992. But sometimes I’ll see a woman in the street- she could be eighteen or eighty- who reminds me of her. Something about her low ponytail, or the boxy shape of her turtleneck, or her long sculptural necklace or her jeans skimming the top of her canvas tennis shoes. And I stare at her and she probably thinks “what’s this lady’s damage?” until- 9 times out of ten- I go ahead and fuck it, I say it: “I just want you to know, you look fabulous. My mother would love your outfit.””
