One of the coolest things about being 36 is that you know things. You know when someone is up to no good. You know how to make a fabulous meal in less than an hour (without looking and sounding as demented as Rachael Ray), and you know how to make the most of your figure, even if you're not even 5'3" and are the owner of the shortest torso known to men.
You also know when certain clothes are going to be a disaster once you get yourself in them.
I didn't want to give up on Anthropologie just yet, so despite my better judgement and the endless pages of inexplicable clothes in their many catalogs, I found myself keeping an open mind and carrying a metric ton of possible outfits into their fitting room. I tried, I really did, but all the things that I've known for ages, like: You don't want any extra fabric around your thighs, or: It's not a good idea to dress like a waist-less midget, it all proved itself right, as I was staring at my dwarfed self in the mirror and wondering how at size zero I still manage to look like I was carrying twins.
I took off the horrors, crossed the street and went into Esprit, where I purchased a cute and flattering black knit mini dress.
Now, Mandy Moore is a lovely girl. Her lack of fashion sense can probably be attributed to her very young age. She will learn, eventually.