Okay, here’s the thing.
I’m just not at all happy with yesterday’s outfit.
So much so, that I was a grumpy pissant all day, and neglected to post.
What’s silly about this is that I know I looked fine, it was an okay outfit, and that I’m being childish. And beyond that – who cares what I look like? It’s not as if I’m being judged by most on the content of my closet, rather than my character. When my clothes make me happy, I walk with more of a spring in my step; when they don’t (and when they don’t, it’s usually symptomatic of something else, let’s be fair), I just feel un-pretty all day long, which adds a grayer cast to the day.
I’m so aware all of this is dumb. Part of my goal here is to define, carefully, who I am wardrobe-wise, and what makes me happy; to make it easier to get dressed in the morning ba-da-bing ba-da-boom, and know I’m expressing myself in a way I’m happy with.
They’re just clothes. It’s a single day. Why does it matter?
(In the vast scheme – even in the small – dudes, it doesn’t.)
All that grumpily declaimed . . . here’s the outfit:
I think, honestly, my battle is with the jacket – I bought it the last day before I quit shopping, because I loved the color and the drape. It appeals to the part of my brain that thinks one day I’ll be, like, a Hollywood producer/director (along the lines of Kathryn Bigelow) and just wear stylish, sumptuously fabricated jackets and skinny jeans and flat-iron my hair. *
This is what I’m now learning about myself, sixty-days-in; that there are certain items I love and covet, but they just don’t fit into my lifestyle. Jackets, for me, need to be nipped and tucked at the waist, and streamlined rather than slouchy; and while I adore this color, it’s a tricky blend for the pink-skinned redhead. It’s not that I don’t think it’s good to experiment, and branch out, but if we’re talking about what works best on me, what’s going to make it easy for me to express myself and feeling most me in my clothes – I might take five minutes to throw a few curls in my hair, but I’m never going to (regularly) spend a hour smoothing all the frizzle out. I’m a curvy, sensuous redhead; I like things that hug my hourglass shape. Rather than fighting it, I am happiest when I embrace my femininity and form, and indulge in tiny waists and playful skirts.
And I think that’s maybe the most important part. That when I’m wearing a classic 40s silhouette, I feel the most me. And if we’re going to embrace fashion as a form of self-expression and elevation . . . then that’s the goal I’m reaching for.
*And run around being brilliant and important, and slightly intimidating . . . .basically, as if my whole life were an American Express commercial. Do you all have life-fantasies that include totally different wardrobes? . . . . it can’t be just me? . . . Guys?