11 March 2007

Now that we can FINALLY bear arms

In case you didn't hear, Friday was a big day for gun lovers in DC.

The US Court of Appeals for the DC Circuit struck down the District's strict gun control law on Second Amendment grounds, and as a result, I'm now allowed to not only liberate my Israeli-made holster from a fire-proof safety deposit box in Michigan but my best-graduation-present-ever Walther PPK as well.

I wasn't going to muse about this legislation, but well, Goldfinger is on right now on the Encore-Action channel, and I just can't help myself.

Before all of you clipboard-toting Obama-ites get on my case for mingling politics with fashion critique, I'll have you know there are no two-legged, opposably-thumbed children in my place of residence, nor will there be any live ammunition. My old-school James Bond gun may be, as a crusty old Marine with whom I work told me, "a fu**in' good piece to kill a motherfu**er with at close range," but were I to actually bring my handed-down darling to the District, it would solely be for those Sunday afternoons when I piled myself into an SUV stacked with fresh-off-the-Iraq reservation contractors itching for a few hours in rural Virginia with a briefcase full of (licensed) semi-automatics and a stack of $.20 Bin Laden targets.

The obvious question that begs to be asked and answered, then, is this: "what does a fashionable girl wear when she's off to the range?"

Do I break my iron-clad no-jeans-and-sneakers rule?

Do I go for the Angie a-la Tombraider look?

Do I opt for the extended clip even though loading the extra bullets almost always ruins my cuticles?

In my view, the shooting range, whether indoor or outdoor, is a venue that falls outside my urban fashion guidelines. In other words, when I'm spending upwards of $50 on ammunition alone, my time better be spent getting better, not looking better.

I recommend jeans, of course, but not skinny jeans, not straight-leg jeans, and not anything nicer or pricier than your sole pair of wouldn't-mind-getting-'em-irreparably-soiled jeans.

As for footwear, it's a coin-toss between sneakers and boots, though I tend to favor the former because I find my taking-it-from-the-hip timing to be considerably faster when I have a less restrictive, more cushioned foundation.
Up top, depending on the weather (remember, the deeper into Virginia red country you go, the colder it gets), I'd either wear my thinnest, faded-to-gray purple MTV tee on its own or coupled with my children's size alma mater sweatshirt. More so than below the belt, a shooter's upper body needs to be agile and unrestricted, a tougher-than-you'd-think equilibrium achieved only through a not-too-tight and not-too-loose upper body garment.

As for how to wear your hair, if you're serious about hitting Bin Laden in the larynx at 10 meters with a body pistol, you'd better ponytail it like a Marine: high and tight.

And just because you're in the sticks doesn't excuse you from the makeup basics of mascara, concealer and bronzer. There's no need for foundation, cream-based shadow or eyeliner, but just because you're packing a PPK and not a briefcase doesn't change the fact that you're still a woman and you're still leaving your front door.

Once you've got the gun, the ammo, the look, and your own bevy of private mercenary instructors at your disposal, you're almost there.

The last steps are getting that NRA membership card and a custom pair of Lara Croft thigh-holsters or Bandidas-esque high-waisted ass-less chaps.

Or both.


Jen said...

OMG, love it! I haven't been to the range in a long while, but you pretty much described my favored look to the T.

west coast devotee said...

how much time did you spend finding pictures of every single member of your girl crush club? That's some serious dedication!

Dedication we're all grateful for!

AnĂ³nimo No Mas said...

I know someone who would be happy to show you how to rock a fedora and shotgun with style.

How's your August for a day at the range?

brown rowergirl said...

I'd definitely take a train down from NYC to join up for a late-summer shootout.

Though I prefer to go full-out redneck in short jean shorts, a tie-front gingham top and cowboy boots.

Oh, and a bag of cheetos and some Bud Lite in the car - I mean, truck.

nyc admirer said...

You are my dream, editrix...

Anonymous said...

Mama-mia, that picture of Monica is dee-lish-us!

knew you as hannie said...

Since I know you and others may not, I feel it's my duty to inform people that as funny as this is, you're not kidding. You're actually a Cheney-loving, gun-owning, Fox News-watching conservative.

How is that we're friends, again?

Oh right, that whole *socially* liberal thing.

nyc admirer said...

Uh yeah, I think we can tell from her posts on Scarlett, Jessica, Monica et. al., our editrix is pretty liberal when it comes to *certain* social issues.

love you, doll :-)

manhattan girl said...

If there really is a shootin' party come August, I better be invited. If it's byog, I guess that means I'll have to pass on a pair of Marc Jacobs pumps and invest in a piece, huh?


Anonymous said...

I was one of the gentlemen who organized Johanna's range day & took Her Glamness to the Clark Bros. range in Warrenton last year. I'd known her about 10 days at that time.
She wore her hair back so tight it hurt to look at, a knee length powder blue trench (she kept it done up the whole time), square glasses, and - so far as I could tell - no makeup.
She was polite, reserved, and - I swear to God - fairly shy.
She came back into town with me and the professional killer who'd brought the handguns for the day (he's an old colleague and friend). After we dropped her off, he turned to me and said, "nice girl. She'd be very attractive if she dressed to show herself off a bit."

Best day I've had in DC was when I told her that line. Thought she'd explode.

Laughing reminiscently,


Johanna said...

Correction! I don't own a powder blue trench -- I was wearing my grad school alma mater hoodie, which just happens to be powder blue.

He's right, though, on that trip, I went bare-ass minimal. Learned my lesson. Never again.