The Romper.
It’s 10am on Sunday morning, the sun is out in full force, and there is not a cloud in the sky. It’s mid-May, and I can already feel the sweat begin to bead behind my white, short-sleeved button up from Banana Republic. I turn onto East Washington St. My destination is Dexter’s of Thornton Park, a loud, but pretty decent brunch spot in one of the many trendy neighborhoods in Downtown Orlando. I walk into the crowded restaurant and quickly scan the room to see if any of my friends have already grabbed a table. I don’t see any of them, so I go up to hostess and put my name down for a four top. She tells me that it’s going to be about a 30-minute wait, not bad for this place (Orlando is Brunch crazed). I walk back outside; post up next to a light pole by the entrance, and wait for my friends to arrive.
I immediately reach for my phone burning a hole in the pocket of my sear sucker shorts, but I hesitate, remembering that I have promised myself to stop burying my face into my phone when I have a free moment. A man can only take so much scrolling. Instead I turn my attention to one of my favorite past times before I had become phone obsessed, people watching.
I naturally start with what’s right in front of me. The restaurant has half a dozen or so tables set up outside, covered with big, tan canvas umbrellas to help shade the eaters from the abusive Florida sun. The crowd is stereotypical, mostly young millennials, peppered with a few gen x’ers still holding onto their sophistication and prior status with an iron fist. The tables are littered with bottomless mimosas, bloody marys, eggs benedict prepared 5 different ways, and of course a shit ton of chorizo.
As my focus shifts from one group to the next, I hear little bits of conversation mixed with bursts of laughter and general merriment. Everyone’s eyes are covered with stylish sunglasses to kill the glare, or to hide the shame and guilt from the previous nights excursions. I would describe almost everyone as a “beautiful person”, as if that was a prerequisite to being granted entrance. Collectively they were like a squad of soldiers, smoking cigarettes and sharing old war stories of previous Sunday Fundays and weekend benders.
I have some OCD tendencies, so I naturally begin to categorize and define everything that I am taking in. The women all seem to be a little less interested as a whole, bothered by the extreme heat of the morning, and irritated with what the humidity is doing to their hair. I quickly start to notice another prominent trend: Rompers. They are everywhere. After a swift inventory I determined that at least one out of three women is wearing one, which when defined to a space, is quite an amazing sight to see. As I continued to look for them, it’s almost as if the Rompers are multiplying. The hostess is wearing one! It’s black, covered with orange and fluorescent pink hibiscus flowers. I turn my attention to the tables inside, I can’t be as sure to the numbers of Rompers being worn due to my limited line of sight, but as I was quickly becoming a Romper expert, I am confident the Romper takeover is continuing on in the interior.
Now for those of you who don’t know what a Romper is, let me describe one for you. They are basically miniature, stylish jump suits, high-waisted, with the pant legs cut off. Low cut, high cut, tube tops, side boob tops, V-necks, two toned, show my ass cheeks or don’t show my ass cheeks bottoms, flowy, frilly, tied off around the waist; they come in a seemingly endless array of different styles, colors and patterns.
Ok, so Rompers are in style, they are practical and they are cute from both the male and female perspective, so what’s the problem? Well, to tell you the truth I don’t know, but they bother me. They have reached the stereotypical point of no return in my eyes. The Romper is not the first, and it will most certainly not be the last trend that bothers me. Let us not forget the spirit hoodies, the return of the pompadour haircut for men (full disclosure, I was part of that movement), and one of my all-time faves to hate on, those big brimmed black hats that all the ladies are wearing that make them look like the Quaker Oats man. I could go on and on with the list, but hopefully you catch my drift. I don’t like the stupid Rompers anymore, and that’s that.
I really enjoy talking about stereotypes because they exist due to society making them a thing. It’s quite simple: if they were not true, then they would not exist. It’s science. The Romper is quickly becoming part of the arsenal that defines the basic bitch. The party girl, the “I just want to travel” girl (I fucking hate that girl most of all), the vanilla latte drinking, Instagram picture of my legs holding a drink at the pool, raspy voiced, Coachella attending, molly taking, I’m hot, but I don’t know the first thing about myself, girl.
I fully understand that I am creeping into severely self-righteous territory here, but I feel like someone should start speaking up about this epidemic. And yes I am being hypocritical, but you can’t speak out about anything and not be hypocritical in some form or fashion, so I don’t really care about that.
Ladies, please understand that I have good intentions here. I mean, it’s really a damn shame this is happening because here’s the thing, most of you look great in them! And there are a large number of you that don’t fit into the pit of despair that is now the Romper, but unfortunately, your cohorts have ruined it for you. You can still wear the Rompers if you want. It’s your right to wear a comfortable and fashionable onesie on a hot summer day in Florida, but just remember… you will be judged.
