Is camel toe a carnal or venial sin?

It's shaping up to be one of those freakish, unexpected hot days, so you know what that means: untanned, stubbly legs and calloused, un-pedicured feets poking out of last year's sandals.

(Well, that's what that means for me.)

I had a bit of an epiphany on the train this morning. It happened on the subway when I glanced up from my book* and looked around me:

When we look back on the fashions of the first five years of the 21st century, we are going to be really embarrassed. Seriously.

Specifically I am referring to the introduction of Lycra into the wardrobe of the general populace. It's not unlike the argument against GMOs: If we start planting GMOs next to nonmodified crops, how long until the GMOs creep their way into everything we grow? I have the same misgivings about women's clothing.

This isn't a weight issue, either. No. See, it doesn't matter what your body looks like. If you're wrapped up in some sort of synthetic sausage casing masquerading as the unintentionally humorously named "Correspondant Pant", it just ain't pretty. I haven't studied anatomy since college, but when I see a woman in those pants, I see little bits of Latin floating in the air, with little arrows pointing to her ass. I can also hear her vagina screaming for air.

Same goes for those tops breezily dubbed "The Perfect T-Shirt" or some such misnomer bullshit, because let's face it: no T-shirt is really "perfect" if it offers your fellow subway passengers a detailed architectural rendering of your brassiere.**

Me, personally? I have my own problems. I can't seem to find a button-down shirt, suitable for work, whose Lycra inner workings don't hug my arms like a fat kid on a Carvel cake. (Goddamned Ethel Merman arms.)

*Which, incidentally, is Scott Wolven's Controlled Burn, and it is fucking awesome and also really humbling.

Just stop it with the plastic clothing, people. You're not in Liquid Sky, for fuck's sake.