Everyone has the story-the story that lead them to reason with fate, to battle the perilous and fiery disruptions of social constructions, and alas...pry open the gateway to self sustained righteousness bedazzled in periwinkle rhinestones.
That story, is not ours.
Our story is filled with inimical ribaldry and patent leather Jeffrey Campbell pumps.
No, No we don't always listen to the Grateful dead and smell like patchouli. Nor are we indigenous to any realm of suburbia. Although, we have reverted to adopting the look of the counterculture-wearing clothes from 1984 paired with days old hair.
We're just two girls, the same as the next intellectual, coexisting with Corporate America in a hellacious array of suiting, structured blouses, trousers and sandals---that's right, we said sandals.
And here we stand-in pursuit of justice, ready to share our Chanel taste on our Salvation Army budget. Our insatiable addition to clothing, shoes, hair, and above all--ephemeral fashion liberalism.
So, here it is...the three finest words or sobriquets that could define us:
Dirty. Hippie. Hair.