Although I'm not one to spend much time in the morning selecting outfits, or preparing hair and makeup choices, I do believe that personal style is a reflection of oneself. And as we grow and change as people, so do the ways in which we adorn ourselves. Clothing is armor, expression, a revelation even when covering up. There are very few people, apart from maybe Ronald McDonald (though many would argue clowns are not people, they are simply fear manifest), who have worn the same thing since inception, and have a wardrobe stocked with the same outfit over and over. Style evolves, as we hopefully do. My personal style has been a comedy of errors, through which a sweet child became a laughably awkward teenager, and has at this point become a passably mature and classy adult...for the most part.
During a seriously delusional moment in middle school, when everyone else was emulating the grunge stylings of Kurt Cobain, I started watching "Happy Days" reruns on Nickelodeon. What. The. Fuck. I wish I could put a pin in exactly what's wrong with me, but I can't. What I can tell you is that this seriously threw a wrench in my social growth, and my experiences during puberty. I decided that the height of cool must be to wear your jeans and sneakers like they did in the 50s! This meant taking my elastic waist (no jokes, I was a mega-chunk) jeans and hiking them crazy high, to be secured with a braided leather belt. Then I would cuff said jeans, and put on my red converse hi-tops, just like Richie and the gang wore. The result? God, I can't even begin. I am wheezing with laughter at my computer just thinking about it. Between that and the fact that I put Glints (do we remember Glints? The best/worst temporary hair color around) in my hair, and wore some ugly shirts and had some crazy eyebrows. But I thought I was amazing. And I'm sure that despite my hideous appearance, my parents were somewhat releived, because there was no way I'd be getting sexed on for at least another 8-10 years, looking like that.
High school helped a little but not much. The next phase of my style evolution came in college, when for one Christmas my mother surprised me with....leather pants. And I wore them several times, to parties. Where I was "that girl in leather pants." I'm flattered my mom thought I could pull it off. Or perhaps at this point she was worried I'd gone too far in the "no sexy" direction, and needed to get back to business. Who knows? Those pants were hot though, in every meaning of the word. Maybe it was a clever "sweat box" ruse to help try and shed that freshman 15. Who knows?
From there I've basically copped my adult choice of clothing, hair and makeup from three places: Mad Men, Gwen Stefani, and lumberjacks. Mad Men offers crisp, feminine, elegant shapes, with clean choices of hair and makeup. Gwen Stefani reflects bold individualism, with fun play between heavily made-up rock chick and laid-back California girl. Lumberjacks pretty much encompass the remaining time, when I am wearing big sweaters and jeans, with no makeup and ponytail.
By the time you hit 30ish you have pretty firmly established what you look like. I know a few things for sure:
*My shape is what it is. All I can do is make sure it's fit and strong.
*"Disliking" certain things about your looks is a giant waste of time.
*Just because something is popular doesn't mean it'll be good on me.
The long and short (skirt) of it? At this point in the game I'm very comfortable in my own skin. If I feel flabby, I make an effort to hit the gym a bit longer, and eat less crap. But my shape is written in my genes, and it's here for the long haul, so instead of bemoaning it, I should celebrate it, and decorate myself in ways that make me feel like an awesome piece of art. Maybe it's the slick gray dress with the low back I wore to work. Or the amazing retro-styled navy and cream number I'm saving for a date with that fella I like (UPDATE: Just kidding. He dumped me. Via text). Or the giant jeans with big holes that are not sexy at all but I freaking love them. Because they're all me.
