There’s a lot wrong with Emily in Paris. By now, most of us are familiar with the show’s more troubling aspects: the retrograde notion that Emily’s boss simply can’t take her dream job in Paris because she’s pregnant; the rampant fatphobia and allusions to smoking instead of eating; the cartoonish depiction of French people en masse;
the entirely uncalled-for Lou Malnati’s diss! (Emily, how could you? A true Midwesterner knows Lou’s is the best, this Emily included.) And then there’s the fashion. If I’m being honest (and appropriately melodramatic), it’s what bothered me the most. Many a screed has been written about Emily’s perplexing tastes: her earnest berets and Eiffel Tower prints, those five-inch stiletto boots, a seemingly endless cache of statement outerwear.
(Exactly where is she storing all of these faux furs and holographic moto jackets?) It isn’t just that her clothes are “exquisitely tacky” or, in many cases, totally unprofessional; in our first glimpse of our protagonist, when she’s still Emily in Chicago, she’s wearing a teeny-tiny minidress in her corporate office.