Hilfiger House Par-tay: an analysis.

Last year, you might recall Gizzy and I boo-hooing over the holiday jewelry commercials. Those commercials had us convinced that it was impossible for us to have a merry Christmas because we didn’t have a man, were never going to have a man, and if some earth-shattering event ever happened and we somehow snagged a man, he sure as hell wasn’t buying us sparkling jewels.

Hrmph.

Sure, I’ve seen those commercials this holiday season, but they don’t bother me one bit. After all, I’m in a completely different mindset than I was last year.

New year, new attitude, new commercial to be obsessed with. I’m sure you’ve seen the (Tommy) Hilfiger House Par-tay commercial? If not, here is the 60-second version:

Amazing, right?

Let’s break it down, shall we?

For starters, the house. I want it. I can already picture myself living there.

Umm and then the sexiest guy on this green earth opens the door and welcomes me inside…

Well, until I am then greeted by hot snowboarder/surfer dude wearing goggles and no shirt and looking completely hunky.

And yes, I get that this is a clothing ad, peppered with hints of a lifestyle that I can pretty much only dream of…but I’m really enjoying this dream.

After all, the inside of the house? Love it.

All the flannel pajamas and heavy knit scarves? Yeah, I need to have those.

What is it about woodsy attire that is so American, yet sexy? I love it. Want it. Need it.

The blonde mom in the flannel robe—adorable.

Like, I need to throw this EXACT Christmas party…except only invite myself.

So, of course, once I watch that on Youtube, I see a whole collection of Hilfiger commercials to drool over. Check out the one for this year’s earlier fall collection:

Sigh. A girl can dream, right?

In other parts of my world, there’s some dramz at the tanning bed. White girl problems, I know.

You see, I have a membership to the tanning bed, which means I can use any of the services as much as I want for a flat fee. One of the services I often use is the mystic tan.

Well, in the last few months, the mystic tan booth has gone to shit. Only one of the three nozzles actually works. This means I’m only getting a third of the spray, and color, that I should be getting.

And so, the last handful of times I’ve gone to the tanning bed, I have requested that I double dip—that is, go two times in a row. Most of the workers understand that the machine sucks and it was their idea for me to go twice. So, it’s been no problem.

Until last week.

I show up on Thursday after work and ask the worker, Sarah, “is there anyone scheduled to mystic after me?”

She says no, and I say, good, because I’d like to go twice.

“Well I don’t really know how to do that,” she says.

Not my problem. “Ok, well it’s been no problem before, they’ve just reset the booth.”

She asks me what level I want. I say the highest, for both rounds.

“YOU WANT TO BE THAT DARK,” she says.

“Um, the machine is broken. I won’t be dark,” I said.

“I went a level three and I was sooo dark,” she said.

First of all, I can fucking see you, and you ain’t dark. You don’t have to lie. Second of all, if I want to be black, I can be.

“I went two level threes on Saturday and it looks like I didn’t go at all, so I want two level threes please.”

She sets up the computer to do so. The other lady tells me that everyone has been going twice and they are going to have to get a new machine.

Well I go twice and the color actually turned out well. But I wanted to go again.

So Friday, I called to schedule another mystic appointment for Saturday.

Sarah answered the phone.

“Didn’t you just mystic last night?” she asked.

“Yep.”

“Did it not turn out?”

“No, it did. But I want another layer.”

So she schedules the appointment.

When I arrive on Saturday morning, Sarah is there, and she has a great idea.

“I recommend you use the primer before your mystic tan, we now have samples and it will help even your tan,” she says, holding a small plastic cup that reads $3.

Let me get this straight. YOUR machine is broken. Therefore, I am not getting a deep tan. So, I should have to PAY for some special lotion that’s going to fix YOUR problem?

I don’t think so.

“That’s nice, but I pay for a membership, not for lotion.”

And that was that. You know what? I think I’ll mystic again tomorrow.

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3 thoughts on “Hilfiger House Par-tay: an analysis.

  1. “Second of all, if I want to be black, I can be.”—Hilarious!

  2. Um… interesting post. I defintely was cracking up while reading the whole thing.
    I think you should say, “temporarily black,” cause I’d bet all the money I’ll ever make in life that’s not a permanent change you’re going for.

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