It is true that I use fashion as a means to express my personality. No, I do not agree that you are what you wear, because I know many amazing and interesting people who wear nothing exciting at all. And sometimes there really is nothing more comfortable to wear than a pair of yoga pants and a white Tshirt. (sans bra, of course) But if one were to look into my closet, their eyes would be blinded by a sea of satiny, overly decorated fabrics. My dresser drawers are stuffed with sparkly, fashionably-torn leggings and jewel-toned turquoise blue jeans. The amount of black clothing I own is minimal, yet necessary, because of the many rainbow colored shoes I possess. If one of the afore-mentioned boringly-clad people would come over to my house and ask to borrow some clothes, it is safe to say that they would be distraught to find nothing that would fit their less-than-desirable fashion standards. (or their chests.)
While it is true that bold decisions in fashion may be questionable at times, I have yet (almost) to have anyone blurt out, “Your outfit is hideous!” as I walk by in my banana-colored peep-toe pumps and poofy silver skirt. My Rockstar, though open-minded about fashion, has complimented me only on my more conservative ensembles, yet appreciates the fact that there is effort put into my getting dressed every day. A Sunday morning would not be complete without at least one individual at church stopping me to openly admire my new pair of stillettos, or my ruffly green blouse. Aquaintances have described me as dressing as a “prom queen” or a “fashionista”, and to that I reply, “What the hell is wrong with that?”
The other day, my Rockstar’s daughter and I were deeply engrossed in the painting of many Christmas presents. We were carrying on a lovely conversation that somehow turned to makeup and fashion. The day before, the Daughter had mentioned the excessiveness of the makeup I was wearing, and since she has never been bothered by the glitter and sparkles before, I decided to ask her about it.
“So I wear too much makeup, eh?” I asked proddingly.
She shrugged. “I don’t think so; I think your makeup is BEAUTIFUL, but my mom says you do.”
“She also says your clothes are really ugly.” She continued.
Normally, I would take offense, but since the “ugly” comment is coming from a person devoid of fashion personality, I feel only pity.
“Oh. Well your mom’s clothes are a little bit less flashy than mine.” I replied democratically.
“Well, I don’t think your clothes are ugly at all! I think they’re awesome! The very first time I saw you I thought how I wanted to look just like you. My mom tries to put makeup on like you and then she’ll come out of the bathroom and be all like, ‘Oh, don’t I look BEAUTIFUL?’ and I tell her, ‘No way, Mom, you look ugly like that’ and then she gets really mad, but it’s just because she doesn’t know how to put makeup on like you do. And all her clothes are BROWN.”
I refrained from letting the “heehee” that was floating around in my brain seep out from my mouth. “Well, maybe she just didn’t have anyone to teach her how to put makeup on. But you know, lots of makeup should never be used to cover up your face. You should only use that much for fun, ok?”
“Yeah, I know.”
We continued painting in companionable silence, my little fashion protege’ and I.
I do not feel malice or animosity toward the Daughter’s Mother, because I realize she is just using her jealousy as a defense mechanism. Even without having her ex as my Rockstar and her Daughter as my Almost-kid, I would still have more wit, and personality, and boobs than she. But if she would ever ask, I would also have the decency to coach her in makeup technique.
If you are wondering what this person looks like, you may refer to here.