I Suck at Fashion.


So, I suck at fashion. Like, a lot. I have never been good at fashion. I never really cared about fashion before, but I think that becoming a mom has broken my Fashion Give A Fuck. I put so much energy into my job, into my writing, into raising my child, into attempting to give my husband the attention he deserves that at the end of the day when it comes to things like clothes? My Give a Fuck is broken.  I am Give A Fuck-less.

I see women flouncing down the street, looking all cute in their little flowy shirts and adorably flattering and waist-cinching chunky belts, and their cute little strappy sandals or whatever, and oh look! Their toenails are painted like TUXEDOS, or butterflies,  or something just as adorable and Pinterest-inspired. And here I am, meandering down the street wearing a tank top with beads falling off it, a pair of jeans that I’ve worn and washed so many times they don’t really even have a color anymore, dingy flip-flops, peeling nail polish, and my greasy hair haphazardly clipped back just so it’s out of my face. OH and with a toddler-sized pink backpack with butterflies covering it strapped to my back. Honestly, I’m just happy being out of the house and not having to watch Dinosaur Train for the NINETEENTH TIME.

We were taking a family stroll downtown this weekend. I watched other moms frolic about with their families, looking all adorable in their cute activewear, trendy tennis shoes, and flippy pony tails. I caught my reflection in a store window and startled myself. I was wearing a green and black-swirled shirt that was too big, a pair of baggy black capris that have really crossed the length threshold and aren’t really capris, but aren’t really pants either, beat-up shoes (and mismatched socks but you couldn’t see that, because the cuffs were both white. I WIN AT DRESSING MYSELF), and greasy hair. It was like TROLL COMES FROM UNDER BRIDGE TO PLAY. CHECK OUT MY OILY, UNKEMPT HAIR AND CHILD COVERED IN WATERMELON JUICE. MAY WE JOIN YOUR FAMILY IN A GAME OF DISCGOLF?

“I have to go shopping today,” I announced to my husband with a wild look in my eyes.
“O….kay…” he said. “What brought that on?”
“I wear the same five things repeatedly. I look like I’m homeless. Going shopping. Alone. Might be a few hours.”

So I went shopping. I hate clothes shopping, especially now that I’m overweight. I went to Kohl’s first. I entered the fitting room with an armload of items. I rejected each one of them because:

  • They were too small.
  • They clung to my Mom Gut and made it look like a saggy kangaroo pouch.
  • It enhanced the wrong curves on my body – the ones created by my back fat.
  • They made me look too old.
  • They made me look too young.
  • I am a condensed version of a human being, and they made my legs look two inches long.

I began feeling depressed, convinced that there was not a single item of clothing anyone had created, EVER, that flattered my body.

Then I reminded myself that my body was different now than it was before I had a child, and I just needed to invest some time finding clothes that worked for me.
So I did. I took my time, carefully picked out some items and walked out of Kohl’s with a shirt-dress that looked cute. I headed to Target to find shoes, and ended up with another outfit. I never did get shoes, because I still can’t figure out what would go well with a teal shirt-dress. Any suggestions? Here’s the dress, if you’re curious.

I guess what I learned from shopping on Saturday is that I have to accept the fact that I have to invest some time and effort into picking out clothes, and think outside the box a bit. Maybe my Give A Fuck isn’t entirely broken. Maybe it’s just rusty and needs a little oil. And now, thanks to my new shirt-dress, maybe I can go play with the fancy downtown folk on Saturday afternoons. My kid will probably still be covered in watermelon, though.