“That’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.” Ken says.
He’s pointing the new spring jacket I bought the day before. I had been feeling a bit down. So I did what any red blooded American Girl would do, I went shopping.
On this particular shopping trip, I had promised myself that I would not buy anything brown or black. It was time to get out of my fashion rut, I told myself. I stuck to my pledge and came home with an avocado jacket.
“You really don’t like it?” I ask.
“It’s hideous.” He says.
At least I can count on Ken to give his honest opinion. Not that it’s always necessary.
A lot of women might feel affronted by such a candid response. But it doesn’t bother me for two reasons. First, I like the jacket. It has a bold color and the length and cut are perfect. Second, I know that the man who is questioning my sense of style has the fashion sense of a blind beggar.
At the same time he is criticizing my new clothes, my fashion dysfunctional husband is wearing ten year old faded blue jeans with torn knees and a ratty blue t-shirt. And these are his “Sunday” clothes.
Admittedly, I’m only a few steps ahead of Ken. I don’t carry a designer handbag and my shoes were not made in Italy. I blame it on being a mom.
A lot of women might feel affronted by such a candid response. But it doesn’t bother me for two reasons. First, I like the jacket. It has a bold color and the length and cut are perfect. Second, I know that the man who is questioning my sense of style has the fashion sense of a blind beggar.
At the same time he is criticizing my new clothes, my fashion dysfunctional husband is wearing ten year old faded blue jeans with torn knees and a ratty blue t-shirt. And these are his “Sunday” clothes.
Admittedly, I’m only a few steps ahead of Ken. I don’t carry a designer handbag and my shoes were not made in Italy. I blame it on being a mom.
I spend too much energy choosing between the Mickey Mouse and the Care Bear diapers and don't have time left for much else. I’ve also come to the conclusion that I’m not going to find many chic outfits on the thirty percent off racks at Target.
In some ways, my remedial sense of style is a disappointment to my gender. As an example, most women boast a closet full of shoes. I have ten pair. That includes two pair of sneakers and my pink fuzzy bedroom slippers. The rest are sensible brown and black pumps that I wear to work. (By the way, Ken still argues that I have too many shoes - he has three pair.)
I wish I were more like my friend Kristin. She has enough fabulous shoes to open her own department store. I’m pretty sure she could wear a different pair every day and not repeat until the end of the decade.
Shoes aren’t the only reason I envy Kristin. I’m also jealous because she’s about ten years younger than me and dresses like a movie star. She has great taste and an eye for style. And it doesn’t hurt that she has the kind of body that would make sack cloth and ashes look like a photo spread for Vogue.
Looking at Kristin’s colorful and coordinated outfits makes me assess my fashion rut. Do I really need a dozen pair of black trousers and five pair of tan or brown? Maybe adding a few more colors to my wardrobe will make me look a bit less like an advertisement for Gothic Garanimals.
That’s why I bought the avocado jacket. And if “Mr. I’ve Been Wearing the Same Shirt for Two Days” doesn’t like it, he can kiss my paisley pants.
In some ways, my remedial sense of style is a disappointment to my gender. As an example, most women boast a closet full of shoes. I have ten pair. That includes two pair of sneakers and my pink fuzzy bedroom slippers. The rest are sensible brown and black pumps that I wear to work. (By the way, Ken still argues that I have too many shoes - he has three pair.)
I wish I were more like my friend Kristin. She has enough fabulous shoes to open her own department store. I’m pretty sure she could wear a different pair every day and not repeat until the end of the decade.
Shoes aren’t the only reason I envy Kristin. I’m also jealous because she’s about ten years younger than me and dresses like a movie star. She has great taste and an eye for style. And it doesn’t hurt that she has the kind of body that would make sack cloth and ashes look like a photo spread for Vogue.
Looking at Kristin’s colorful and coordinated outfits makes me assess my fashion rut. Do I really need a dozen pair of black trousers and five pair of tan or brown? Maybe adding a few more colors to my wardrobe will make me look a bit less like an advertisement for Gothic Garanimals.
That’s why I bought the avocado jacket. And if “Mr. I’ve Been Wearing the Same Shirt for Two Days” doesn’t like it, he can kiss my paisley pants.
No comments:
Post a Comment