After a stimulating conversation (actually, it was more of a debate) on "irony" with my coworkers post-happy hour (when all the best ideas happen), I realized that really, "ironic" has become a euphemism for "ugly." Let's look at a recent example:
80s clothes. Just because I'm old enough to have been alive in the 80s doesn't mean I don't know when something is ugly. Actually, I think it makes me even more qualified, as I have worn flowered stirrup pants, side pony tails, and off-the-shoulder sweaters (often all at the same time) UN-ironcially and lived to tell the tale.
So if you are on a fixed gear bicycle, no helmet, your hair is permed into how my mom wore her hair twenty years ago (can we say the post-Farrah 1982 tight frizzy curls with overly bright highlights and enough hairspray to burn down my apartment that my dad still thinks is sexy look), you are wearing tight colored jeans rolled up and a jean jacket with a kitten sewn onto the back, don't bother with the helmet after all. Please. And stop riding in front of the 44 bus because it already takes me more time than you've been alive to get home.
