Are Snuggies the ultimate Depression-era accessory?

Are Snuggies the ultimate Depression-era accessory?
Photo by busbeytheelder

In response to the Minneapolis Snuggie Pub Crawl you'll surely be attending this evening, the Star Tribune's James Lileks is on the case.

Snuggies, you say? Well perhaps they are the greatest new accessory for every laid off person in town. Or perhaps it's the single worst thing any unemployed worker could ever invest in.

Good luck networking for that next job sporting a Snuggie. Hey, your robe is on backwards! Why did you bring your blanket to the bar and how the hell did you get sleeves in it? Remember that great interview you had Thursday for your dream job? You might want to reconsider stumbling the West Bank in a Snuggie. Your future boss might be a little freaked out, particularly when you separate from the group and head home alone on the light rail.

Lileks sums up the Snuggies perfection in one paragraph:

It may be the perfect recession outfit: When times are tough, when every day brings another hammer blow -- 3M downsizes will be known as 2M; Best Buy announces that its 2Q profit consists of change retrieved from repossessed driers -- some people want to curl up on the sofa under something cozy, and still have their hands free in case they want to slit their wrists.

Yikes. Maybe it's not such a good thing. It makes you look fat after all and we know too well that fat people don't get jobs.

But when you're laid off, it's not good to wear loose clothing. Oh, the first few weeks it's a joy: no more tight bogus Establishment Trousers cinching the gut, no more noose around the neck. Freedom! Now I'll write that novel!

But there's a direct, scientifically proven correlation between elastic waistbands and productivity. No one who's wearing a Snuggie at noon will get a job until the economy is booming so hard they're putting Help Wanted signs in premature infant wards.

The bars might want to take a cue from the Great Depression, and make the next one a Fabulous Depression. Look sharp, not like slumped beasts hiding under a sheet of cloth. I'm not saying I'd go to the events -- I have a kid, and have long passed the desire to stand in loud clubs and grow throat polyps shouting over music I hate.

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