The death of cool and birth of slick?

On my flight back from Mumbai to Singapore I watched 'The Devil Wears Prada'. Not the sort of movie I would have expected to affect me but unaccountably it did.

You see, I grew up with a fine disdain for dressing up. I figured that there is no occasion for which denim is unsuitable. I used to sleep in my jeans (and occasionally still do). I thought dressing up was for victims of society's expectations.

But I watched this movie and really realized for the first time that when people wear fine clothes, they look good. Really good. And for the first time, I wanted some of that stuff for my own closet. I'm still in shock. Will my blue jeans ever feel the same again?

Maybe I was swayed by Meryl Streep's icy exposition on the antecedents of a cerulean sweater. Maybe it was the contrast between Anne Hathaway (who spends the movie becoming increasingly stylish) and Adrian Grenier (who spends it getting steadily grungier). Maybe it was the wine I was drinking. Whatever it was, I ended the movie with an odd urge to shop.

Simply posting this is a strange and humbling experience. I thought this blog would be funny, or profound, or caustic commentary on stuff that I really care about. Turns out I now care about clothes. I better stop typing before I embarass myself. Or is it already too late?