Factory Girl: Polo chic

I've never experienced the comforts of a stable 9-to-5 lifestyle (strange, as I cite the Dolly Parton song as one of my favorites). My career has always maintained the wild inconsistency of a struggling actor. I find myself either slaving away for months at a time or paralyzed by work blackouts. It's been but a roller coaster for 27 years, ladies and gents.

However, this particular Sunday, I didn't find myself wracked with bitterness witnessing my friends incessantly update their Instagrams with beach-haired, sun-kissed selfies, complete with (increasingly annoying) "Sunday funday" hash tags.

For I, Factory Girl, was having the most superior Sunday experience of all.  I found myself luxuriously basking in the Florida sunshine, at the stupendously exciting and outrageously fun Sarasota Polo.

I watched, heart-jumping-into-throat as fearless men and women exerted themselves in the most badass sport of all: Polo. I admired the beauty of fierce and feisty horses — supreme athletes in their own right. I took an exhilarating ride on a bright red carriage pulled by an army of larger-than-life, majestic, Clydesdales. I played in the dirt, enjoying the sensation of heels sinking into the grass as I made new friends, and I breathed in the fresher Lakewood Ranch air.