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Fashionista: Cougar fashion is tricky

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Greetings all you lovely guys and dolls of the Sooner nation. 

I’m happy to tell you it’s time to move from aviary predator chic to mammalian predator chic.  Yes, dears, this week we discuss Houston and the Cougars. 

And if there is anything I can truly relate to it’s these predators with sharp nails and keen eyes to pounce just when the right prey is in sight.  Young, fabulous prey that can keep a middle-aged Cougar on her toes.  Not too young of course.  Anyone under 21 is strictly verboten and this fashionista does not approve, Mrs. Robinson.

Just so, Cougar fashion is tricky.  One must be willing to show just enough skin to entice but leave just a little enough covered, so if he needs a mothering figure, one is there. 

A nice skirt with a high slit perhaps.  A snug button up shirt with a few unbuttoned to entice, but not display in vulgarity.

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Fashionista: Clear bags policy shows bias against purses

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Hello, Fellow Sooner Fashionistas, and post-Happy Hallowe’en!  A time when bad fashion can be forgiven in the name of sugary sustenance and monster-filled galas. 

However, let’s not forget the impact of candy-induced Halloween Hips grown right before the time of Thanksgiving thunder thighs.

But today we must discuss the horrible requirement of many a stadium fan – the clear backpack or purse. 

I realize this fashion decision lies not with the wearer but with the obviously misguided heads of security o’er said stadium.  No doubt ill-dressed, mouth-breathers who wear only what is on sale at the closest Wally World Supercenter.

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Flaunt the fedora — forget the foam finger

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Hello, Fellow Fashionistas! Greetings from the Country of Crimson and Cream.

While we are still floating triumphantly, adrift on a glorious sea consisting of destroyed dreams and hopes, in the hideous hue of burnt orange, we must consider upcoming contests and the fashion opportunities and flopportunities they offer.

The first resounding fashion “YES” that we find here afloat on our Sooner Schooner (the ship, not the wagon because, for the love of all that’s holy think of the horses!), is the magnificent golden chapeau that now belongs to our beloved Bevo-beating boys.

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