She was an aubergine storm trooper. Everything matched. Purple UggBoots, purple stretch pants, purple skirt, purple jacket with purple fur on the collar. It was like she’d violently harvested the McDonalds character Grimace and wore it proudly like a woman might wear a fancy fur to the opera.
The sparkle lavender eye shadow finished the look along with shiny, long, weapons-grade purple nails. She stood as the bus slowed to a stop, and picking up her purple lame handbag, exited the bus.
“That was a shitload of purple,” said the woman next to me on the bus, unsolicited.
“It is obviously her signature look; a lot of work went into it,” I answered.
“Do you think it started with the UggBoots in purple? Or the ‘fur’?” chimed in another passenger, using hand air quotes around fur.
“I am stuck on what office environment that outfit is appropriate for,” volunteered someone else, “Could she even type with those nails?”
“Well, she seemed happy and confidant and blissful, and that’s more than most of us can claim at 6:45 a.m.,” I said, “So her bliss is purple? Who are we to get in her way?”
“That is such a hippy San Francisco thing to say,” said the woman next to me.
“Proudly so, actually. Doesn’t make it any less true.”