As a high school student, my absolute favorite subject was Latin. My least favorite subject was gym, but only because I sucked at bonzai. Now, you may be asking yourself, “Was this twisted biatch some kind of Tracy Flick psycho pants?”
Why yes, yes I was.
Back to Latin. Sure, I reveled in learning about how the Cornelii family finally managed to dig their raeda from the fossa after being stuck there for the length of entire textbook. (That would be a carriage in a ditch to all you philistines out there. Do yourself a favor and pick up a copy of Ecce Romani. Riveting stuff.)
But my passion for Latin mostly stemmed from the fact that the Romans were really crafty ballers who understood a thing or two about clothing. Yeah, I said it: I liked Latin because Roman garb consisted of ROBES. You know what a toga is, folks? A long robe made out of king-sized sheets.
The Romans definitely knew what was up in a lot of subjects: democracy, oration, numerals, philosophy, weird gods getting freaky with each other/ humans. But I’ll go out on a limb here and say that their greatest accomplishment by far was doing away with the constraints of shirts and pants and jackets and probably underwear in favor of free ballin’ it in shmatas tied at the waist.
Linda and Larry, in all their wisdom, also enjoy partaking in the freedom of robe-wearing. In fact, all Feinbergs are into them. Larry likes weird silk kimonos, Linda likes the Frette ones they sell at Costco, babygirl likes anything she can use as a snot rag, and beezus pretends to be grossed out by them but probably wears them in secret when she’s alone in her principles clicking through slideshows on Daily Puppy and dreaming about Ed Westwick.
I myself will don anything with two sleeves and a belt. I refuse to be held down by the tyranny of tailoring or the hegemony of hemlines.
In college, I would spend entire days shmooping around in my bathrobe enjoying lukewarm keystones, listening to Sufjan, wearing my men’s size 7 LL Bean slippers, and generally delighting in having beaten the whole “going to class and doing homework” system.
If you think I took off my robe to go grub out at Bear’s Den, you’d be wrong – you see, everything tastes better when wearing a bathrobe, especially in public places. For that very reason, I was known in some Wash U circles simply as “bathrobe girl,” an alias I like to think of as my alter ego super hero code name.
Now that we have that covered, I present without further psychobabble my list of bathrobes worth spending an entire Sunday in.
- Betsey Johnson “Velour and Satin” Robe (own this)
- Victoria’s Secret Silky Kimono (own this too)
- Pottery Barn waffle-weave resort robe (own something just like it)
- Frette cotton terry bathrobe (this too. I own a lot of robes)
- W Hotels doeskin robe (it will be mine. oh yes. it will be mine)