"You're so fickle," one of my friends told me the other night.
I had changed my mind regarding where I wanted to go for cocktails and they were laughing at my split second change in direction.
I can whole heartedly commit to Restaurant A and then see a neon sign and instantly whole heartedly switch to Restaurant B.
I'm kind of a whore that way.
It's not that I don't mean what I initially say.
It's just I am passionate about many things so I can be totally stoked about happy hour at a Spanish restaurant and then totally decide I'm in more of an Irish pub kind of mood.
I'm worldly in my hometown that is Portland.
Restaurants aren't the only thing I'm fickle about.
I'm also a fickle fashionista.
I have always had enough clothes to outfit my entirety of girlfriends and still have some leftover bags for Goodwill.
And I give clothes away nearly every year.
But I also buy more clothes every year.
I can't get enough.
It's like my affinity for vodka and men.
Fashion. Booze. Sex.
That's me, in a nutshell.
But for how much I love clothes they always end up in piles on my floor. You'd think for how much joy they bring me, how much I treasure them and delight in taking them out on the town I'd treat them with more respect and dignity.
But the pile of clothes on my floor by my dresser is so thick it's up to my knees.
I am not exaggerating.
I had to laugh at myself when I was searching for a pair of shoes and thought to myself rationally, I believe I threw them over in this corner and as I started digging through the pile of clothes it took me a REALLY long time to reach the carpet. Hmm, I thought. I think I may have let this pile get a little out of hand.
Some things never change. Like my vintage 50's hats, my flare for the chaotic is timeless.
My tastes in fashion have varied too. I'll try trends as they come and go (Remember how cool fancy ponchos were seven years ago?) and I'll embrace different store brand looks (my A&F red plaid shirt ROCKS! And I don't care if you hate Abercrombie) but year after year the style I'm most drawn to is lady like and feminine.
And I realized as I sort through the clothes actually hanging in my closet (they're not ALL on the floor but that's only because I have enough to fill a closet, my floor, my dresser AND my Grandma's garage) that I really am no longer sporting the 25 different looks I used to. My look has simplified and it's time what I own matches my tastes.
Spring cleaning is happening late this year but some bitch shopping at Red Light is going to be really stoked when she comes across my donations.
I changed into sweats when I got home today (Of course they're bedazzled with a sparkly guitar and PINK logo on them so they're still totally girly) and I grabbed a shirt from the small pile of folded laundry. (There are tiny glimmers of clean, organization within the chaotic confines of my room). And I laughed when I saw what shirt I'd grabbed.
The red and white striped tank top from Banana Republic has been in my possession for 5 years. This is surprising since I went through a phase of throwing out nearly my entire wardrobe associated with The Foreign Years. (Any relationship with a guy dubbed Narcissus that spanned my entire college career earns me the privilege of chucking my entire wardrobe and starting fresh). But this tank has withstood the test of my adoration and is still a favorite today. And what's funny is that I only bought it because I was really ridiculously hot.
I worked in an office back then and had chose to wear some sweater on a day that surprised the heck out of Oregonians by being in the 90's. I don't do hot. I hate hot. I want it balmy and breezy not sticky and stuffy. So I went to the mall on my lunch break to buy something I could breathe in. I remember coming back from my lunch break and my co worker laughing at my costume change.
Did you just go buy that shirt? she mocked me.
Nooooooooo, I lied. I don't know what you're talking about.
But I totally did.
I totally just bought the classic, fabulous top because I was too damn hot to survive another four hours of work.
And now five years later, it turns out, I had really good taste.
It matches perfectly with one of my favorite vintage cardigans that has matching red and white stripes.
Jesus wanted me to have that tank.
Good thing he gave me an eye for style.
No comments:
Post a Comment