Well, in a nutshell, I don't think I have one. But I want one. How embarrassing.
Today at Target I did the unimaginable. I bought myself a pair of sweatpants, a pair of khakis, and four t-shirts. I about had a panic attack at the register thinking of spending money on clothing for myself when I knew exactly what bills I could have paid instead. I mean, it was Target, and it wasn't that much money, and had it been clothes for one of the kids I wouldn't have batted an eye. But it was for me, and I never do that. These days. But the sweatpants I was wearing when I bought the new ones had a seat that was about to give out. Not that my butt's bigger or anything. (and it's getting smaller, thank you very much.)
Seriously? It's cold here now. And I realized with some degree of shock and confusion that I don't own a single pair of long pants. Only capris from the thrift store (and I'm not complaining, because L.A. thrift stores are the gold mine of the west coast. Let somebody else pay for designer clothes and then get bored with them when they're still perfectly fine. Suits me!) Oh, and that pair of almost bottom-less sweatpants, which I love.
How did this happen?
I'm not really good at clothes. I don't really know how to pick them out, or what looks good on me. Very rarely have I had clothing that I really feel confident in, even when I had a smokin' hot bod, for a mom-type. I want to, I just don't have the skill to know what to buy, and I don't have the patience or the time to go search them out, a piece here and a piece there.
Today when I bought my khakis, I did try them on, which I hardly ever do. Lyndsay was with me, (which is the main reason these purchases even made it through to the cashier. She's a big fan of me doing things for myself, bless her heart.)
"Did you like them?" she asked when I came out of the dressing room.
"Sure. They're pants."
"But did they fit well?"
"I guess. They're just pants."
She was already puzzled enough that I wasn't trying on the t-shirts. Apparently to her, t-shirts have to fit just right, whatever that means. It's not a formal gown, it's a t-shirt.
"Aren't you going to try on the black pants?" (the sweatpants)
"Because they're just sweatpants. I mean, I know I'm not S, and I'm not L, so what's left? M. What's left to discover?"
She got a good laugh. But she has no hips and no cellulite, and legs that go on forever, so I let her live in her fantasy. If you remember, she tries on a size 0 and it's still too baggy. Puh-lease! Where do you go from there?
I think it all began when I was a child, when I got random hand-me-downs from various older relatives whom I'd never before met. Aunt's sisters, maybe? I don't know. I did the best I could, and then in high school I started buying my own clothing. Do you know how many times I was stopped and asked if I was a teacher? And I was young for my grade!
I used to watch women around me: my favorite teacher, Mrs. Holt in 7th and 8th grades; my Seminary teacher, Patrese Burke; my piano teacher, Carol Jean Stoker (who was a grandmother, but I liked her style!) I watched women around me whom I wanted to emulate for various reasons, and I admit, I started to dress like them. I painted my nails the same colors they used. I wanted a freshwater pearl bracelet because they had one. I wanted those peek-a-boo shoes that Mrs. Holt had, and dress pants with a belt and a blouse. Carol Jean always wore these silky skirts with coordinated sweaters, so I was on the lookout for those at TJ Maxx. I didn't copy my style from my peers (I felt terribly silly and out of sorts when I tried, though I did have my share of acid washed skin tight jeans--with zippers at the bottom-- and baggy sweaters.) I was born on the lookout for who I wanted to become and I tried to dress the part. Don't you think that's weird that a 17 year old girl is trying to look like her 50? something year old piano teacher? It just dawned on me a few weeks ago that I did that, and that that might be weird.
Oh great. Something else to add to the list. What a nerd.
So, now here I am fashionably clueless. I do my best to fake it, but I don't know that I'm really fooling anyone. And living where I live, it's easier to both get away with anything, and to really stand out as being the clueless one. Oy vey.
But hey. Today I am sporting very nice black lounge pants, with contrasting topstitching and a string tie at the waist. The fabric has a smooth sheen and drapes nicely. And they're machine washable, to boot. With that, I am wearing a slightly fitted, fuchsia V-neck tee with short sleeves and a nice, longer length. I think it makes my breasts look awesome, the worn-out working girls they are, and I'm even feeling a little skinnier in clothes that don't have holes in them.
So until What Not to Wear does an intervention on me, I sure am comfortable, and maybe even a little cute. And I'll keep trying.