First came glamour, in the form of an ’80s resurgence: shiny miniskirts, huge shoulder pads. Now, grunge is back. In addition to flannel and boyfriend jeans, the look has evolved from distressed to downright destroyed, with clothes appearing to have been run through a paper shredder. Celebs like Lady Gaga and Rihanna don’t leave the house these days without scissored pants (if you can even call them pants).

Rodarte’s and Alexander Wang’s disheveled-chic collections led the charge on the runway, and preshredded clothing is readily available at American Apparel and other hipster havens. But DIY destruction is considered more respectable (if no less calculated) than its retail counterparts. So, after studying the how-to tips on countless holier-than-thou blogs, I set out to create, then test-drive, the expertly accidental distressed look.

I begin by dissecting a pair of leggings, carefully at first (alternating horizontal slices from seam to midleg with sharp shears), but soon am swept into an Edward Scissorhands frenzy that leaves only a pair of biking shorts and a pile of stretchy black scraps.

My second go-round results in no technical casualties. When I don the precisely lacerated leggings with a basic tunic, I’m initially unsure if they project goth cool or just make my legs look like sausages bursting from their casings. Glances from onlookers tell me the vibe is, in fact, more "As seen on LiLo in Us Weekly!"

Next up is a pair of jeans, which I rip from ankle to pocket. Even paired with a black boyfriend blazer (in a feeble attempt to class things up), the results still feel contrived—and I come off like a fad-loving opening act for the Jonas Brothers.

Though my appetite for destruction is waning, I throw on a baggy white tee I’d punctured and picked apart. (The most successful ripping tip I found: Cut off the hem, then pull out one row at a time for a gossamer effect.) My black bra shows in a few places, playing to the current peekaboo trend, but the overall skin-to-fabric ratio doesn’t seem too burlesque. Plus, the ventilation in the summer heat doesn’t hurt.

Still, I fear outsiders will find my trashed top, um, trashy. Until the praise starts flowing in—and from people, some complete strangers, ages 18 to 60. "Cool shirt!" "You’re really pulling off that shirt." "Did you do this yourself?" Yes, ma’am. Yes, I did.