Sippers, I am fresh off the plane from Tokyo where I tagged along on Husband’s business trip. It was a whirlwind of a trip but I am exhausted and frankly confused as to what day it is. I packed light in anticipation of bringing home lots of cool stuff. Other than a few action figures for the boys, I struck out. Visiting designer shops like the ones we have on Rodeo Drive was not my goal. Discovering unchartered Japanese designers with a fresh take on style was my plan. Sadly, as cute as the gimmicky items were in Teen town Harajuko, short mini skirts with bobbie socks are not my look. I do, however, treat jeans as a daily staple. The reputation of Japanese denim precedes itself and I was ready to conquer. I dragged Husband from store to store searching for the magic pair of jeans. After a committed search, the dismal reality set in. As if I could not figure it out just by looking at the mocking faces of the adorable shop girls! I insisted on jamming my American thighs into several pairs while Husband snickered in the background. My ass did not fit in one pair of jeans. American sizing is not Japanese sizing! Granted, the slew of Benihana type meals did not help the situtation. Kobe beef anyone? Thank G-D for my good ol’ Rag and Bones.
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