Mary HK Choi is a senior editor at MTV Style. She also creates comics for Marvel and writes other awesome stuff for Wired and The Awl.
"I love my skin-tight black skirt. I love it so much I have six of them. Two in rotation, four on ice. I pick them up at stores called Foxy Lady or Amsterdam! where Soho is about to become Chinatown or where Chinatown becomes Tribeca. Any time you see hot middle-schoolers shopping for clubbing outfits or mannequins with really big boobs, you can find this special, special skirt. It’s made of unbelievably bad extrusion fibers and cut in that Herve Leger band-aid silhouette that you can fling over tights and any top and look instantly presentable."
"They’re nine bucks a pop. And you know that can’t possibly be okay. The label says they’re made in China but I suspect someplace sketchier. Like a factory on an island no one bothered naming. They’re probs produced by dim-eyed, nimble-fingered toddlers who feed the unending python of flammable black elasticky shit into a mechanized guillotine that simultaneously cuts and seam finishes the tubes with the crummiest serged edge. But they’re so easy. They look good with tank-tops, or you could wear it with a sheer button-up to meetings where you can err on the side of fash-slutty. I have worn one with an Olivier Theyskens (no Theory) blouse. Another time with a McQueen tuxedo jacket. I know how many flavors of despicable and broken that type of high-low spazz action is, and if I could trade them in for one really good skirt that wasn’t a product of soul rape, I would. At least if someone offered the swap ("For Alaïa? Don’t mind if I do…"). I think dry cleaning them will yield meth-lab explosions from upsetting the balance of chemical crap that makes up the garment in the first place. When I’m dead, the half-dozen Hitler mustaches of my skirt will pepper a multicolored landfill. They’re conflict body-con skirts. I love them, but they make me feel awful."
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