I’m a Fashion No

This is it. Fall 2015 is when I’m going to up my wardrobe game! I’m going really get out there and reinvent my look. This might be a bit of a problem because I don’t have a look. I have a more of a “lo” which is half a look or barely a look. To be honest my “lo” translates into me having two categories of wardrobe: Decent and Vintage Slob.

The “vintage” look I wear on days when I’m not venturing farther than a one mile radius from my home or only going to Walmart. (Hand to God, one morning I was the worst dressed person at  Walmart. I owned it and pushed my cart down the aisles with a swagger that had a smidgen of slob joie de vivre.)

My decent look is essentially a go to uniform of jeans, blouse, cardigan sweater and a shoe that is neither athletic wear or has the word flop in it. In terms of make up let’s just say if you ever see me sporting the “smokey eye” it means those black marks aren’t the result of an over application of Lancôme Precision Point EyeLiner but bruising from some sort of cornea surgery.

Yep, it’s time to do a fashion intervention on myself. I’m going to go out of my comfort zone. Good bye elastic waist pants (you were my everything) and hello high fashion. (Okay let’s be honest here and call it medium fashion because I don’t have the money or petite waist circumference to go all Vogue magazine)

To begin my journey to a more fashionable me I decided to go solo. Sure I could have brought my daughter with me, but have you noticed how teenaged girls have an almost magical skill to turn any shopping expedition into a journey that is all about them?

You go to the mall to buy yourself a pair of shoes and the next thing you know you’re feeling light-headed from the Abercrombie fumes and you’ve been conned into spending way too much money on something called  “Teaspoon Freebird” (Is that a kind of hummingbird or something?) denim for your daughter. It’s witchcraft that’s what it is or there’s some kind of mind altering chemical in the reek that permeates the store and makes anyone over the age of 40 surrender control of their wallet.

My first solitary stop was to a department store I was familiar with. I figured it was best to ease myself into this fashion thing and go somewhere I knew the terrain. Although, I was going to an area of the store I have always walked by and never given a second look to because the clothes looked a little intimidating (as in requiring full Spanx and had dry clean only tags). I selected three items that frightened me because that’s what Oprah says to do. You know the whole “Do one thing that scares you everyday” mindset.

The most horrifying was a dress with a fabric brocade so thick it reminded me of my grandma Stella’s sofa. The bad news it was beyond ugly even through the sales associate told me it was “totally on trend.”  The good news that bulky brocade could hide a multitude of lumps and bumps. It should have a sign that reads “buy me and you’ll never have to suck in your stomach or forego dessert again.”

This made me very excited as I attempted to get the dress on my body. Please note the word attempted because try as I might that brocade wasn’t budging over my shoulders. Yeah, that’s right shoulders. I bet you thought I was going to say hips because who hasn’t had that problem, but no this garment was stuck at my neck. Well, to be accurate it was strangling me. Who know brocade had the same compression quality as a surgical grade tourniquet?

Finally I managed to free myself from what I thought was certain death and examined the garment more closely and realized I hadn’t unzipped it all the way. I grabbed a tissue from my purse and had a good cry. So, it’s come to this has it? I now have to wear reading glasses to get dressed.

After my cleansing sob in the dressing room. I gave the dress another try. Totally unzipped it went on my body without a hitch. Unfortunately, I looked like I belonged in a living room. If I had worn it to a furniture store and laid on the floor I’m certain a family of four would have set on me because I just didn’t look like a love set or even a regular couch. No, in this dress I was so huge I appeared to be working a “sectional sofa” look. I couldn’t get it off fast enough.

Because I’m no quitter I decided to buck up and persevere. I wasn’t going to let a couch dress rob me of my courage. I was going all in and headed to a store that downright scared me. You know the kind of store where everything is fancy and from the moment you walk in you feel like you’re being judged.

I opened the thick glass door with a handle that was doing double duty as a work of art and felt like it was telling me to “flee the premises with my unworthiness.” I wanted to listen to the door and take off for the parking lot, but I thought to myself, “Stay strong, you are a woman on a mission and will not be denied your chance at wardrobe wonder.”

As I perused the racks a sales woman asked me if I needed help and because I was still feeling vulnerable from the brocade bomb I blurted out what I had just been through (leaving out the whole reading glasses/zipper thing because it’s one thing to admit you resembled a sectional and quite another to share that you’re an aging idiot) and bless her heart she took pity on me. This woman steered me to clothes that had qualities that were in no way related to home furnishings. I, with trepidation, tried on a variety of looks that screamed “fashion is my passion.”

The problem is I could have sort of liked these clothes if they hadn’t reminded me of the 1980’s. It seems one of the muses for fashion this year was that wonderful time period of shoulder pads, Dynasty, and leopard prints. It’s as if they put Joan Collins as Alexis Carrington and Nancy Reagan during her White House years in a Vitamix for a smoothie and then topped it all off with a little Material Girl Madonna whipped cream. I mean, what girl doesn’t love a little animal print, but just wow on a cheetah inspired, shoulder padded, blouse with a bow.

I had no choice but to raise the white flag of surrender. I was done attempting to brave the fashionista waters, at least for today. It was time to go home and reunite with my BFF. No, not my husband or children are you insane? Where’s the comfort in that? If I told them I almost asphyxiated myself with an unzipped dress they’d would not only howl with hysterics, but use it against me for years to come as in “well, at least I’ve never choked myself by not fully unzipping a piece of clothing.”

My savior, the healing balm for this emotional journey was one thing and one thing only – my decade old, elastic waist, sweat pants. They’re not high fashion or even low, let’s call them aspirational bottom feeders of the style world, but they sure are comfortable and I have no doubt, at all, that they love me. In fact, even though I’m fashion challenged I’m blessed. Most women want a wardrobe they love. Lucky me, I have a wardrobe that loves me back or at least that’s what I’m telling myself.

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