Clothes
Someone at work the other day made a comment about how I was so conservative. Huh? Not so much.
My son said, "Well, maybe she meant your clothing." It's possible...but really? I'm not a conservative dresser but a lazy dresser. I hate shopping. So I buy clothes to wear forever, and standing in front of my closet in the morning, my default questions become is it clean? Is it appropriate? Does it cover everything I need covered? Well, then...good enough.
Until recently, I shared an office with a friend. On some days, I would walk in and without even looking up she would deadpan, "These are not the clothes I was wearing yesterday." I'd say, "Good. This skirt is not the one I was wearing yesterday either."
Since we only were in the office (and office clothes) for a couple hours at most and rarely saw the same people two days in a row, we both got in the habit of rewearing pants, a skirt or, I must confess, an entire outfit just so we didn't have to think about it. You'd be amazed at how seldom anyone noticed. (Hey, we're middle-aged women: an almost invisible species under certain circumstances.)
Black! It goes with anything. Throw on a black pair of pants, a plain top, a bracelet or a necklace and out the door. But look in my closet: four pairs of black pants? Six black skirts? Yeah, not so exciting.
In fact, every single thing I own for work could be mixed, matched, and put on in the dark...just like my teenage sons' clothing. Gak!
Maybe I should go shopping. But, oh dear Lord, how I quail at the prospect. What the heck have they done with all the normal clothes? You know, the ones that don't make me look like I earn my living standing on a street corner or as if I am doddering? I'd like to look older than 13 while we're at it. And I want to buy something that costs less than my mortgage but more than my soda. I'd also like clothes without glitter or sequins or kittens. Things without stuff written on the ass or printed across my nearly non-existent chest. (Which...you know those pants with stuff written on the ass? Well, when you are walking up stairs? And happen to be a little overweight? Letters sort of, how should I phrase this, disappear as those pants climb up into your butt and your carefully chosen message no longer says what you think it does! Really, you might want to reconsider that sartorial choice.)
Quite frankly? The entire fashion industry is totally pissing me off. I have money, I want clothes, and there is next to nothing out there for me to wear! Except, of course, for the black pants and the plain tops. Bah!
My son said, "Well, maybe she meant your clothing." It's possible...but really? I'm not a conservative dresser but a lazy dresser. I hate shopping. So I buy clothes to wear forever, and standing in front of my closet in the morning, my default questions become is it clean? Is it appropriate? Does it cover everything I need covered? Well, then...good enough.
Until recently, I shared an office with a friend. On some days, I would walk in and without even looking up she would deadpan, "These are not the clothes I was wearing yesterday." I'd say, "Good. This skirt is not the one I was wearing yesterday either."
Since we only were in the office (and office clothes) for a couple hours at most and rarely saw the same people two days in a row, we both got in the habit of rewearing pants, a skirt or, I must confess, an entire outfit just so we didn't have to think about it. You'd be amazed at how seldom anyone noticed. (Hey, we're middle-aged women: an almost invisible species under certain circumstances.)
Black! It goes with anything. Throw on a black pair of pants, a plain top, a bracelet or a necklace and out the door. But look in my closet: four pairs of black pants? Six black skirts? Yeah, not so exciting.
In fact, every single thing I own for work could be mixed, matched, and put on in the dark...just like my teenage sons' clothing. Gak!
Maybe I should go shopping. But, oh dear Lord, how I quail at the prospect. What the heck have they done with all the normal clothes? You know, the ones that don't make me look like I earn my living standing on a street corner or as if I am doddering? I'd like to look older than 13 while we're at it. And I want to buy something that costs less than my mortgage but more than my soda. I'd also like clothes without glitter or sequins or kittens. Things without stuff written on the ass or printed across my nearly non-existent chest. (Which...you know those pants with stuff written on the ass? Well, when you are walking up stairs? And happen to be a little overweight? Letters sort of, how should I phrase this, disappear as those pants climb up into your butt and your carefully chosen message no longer says what you think it does! Really, you might want to reconsider that sartorial choice.)
Quite frankly? The entire fashion industry is totally pissing me off. I have money, I want clothes, and there is next to nothing out there for me to wear! Except, of course, for the black pants and the plain tops. Bah!
posted by Karin at
6:15 PM
2 Comments:
I've actually passed by prostitues on the street in Boston (in Chinatown, mostly standing near stores that sell...er..."related" products). Even prostitues, apparently, up here in the North, dress warmly. The uniform at the time appeared to be white parkas with fur-lined hoods and white boots.
(Yes I'm sure they were prostitutes, one of them was trying to close a deal with a guy who was leaving, riding away on a bike of all things. Not a motorcycle, a 10 speed).
By
snarkyxanf, at 12:54 PM
Ha! That's pretty funny...I just have this picture in my head of them riding away with her on the handlebars! Gives new meaning to the phrase "turning tricks."
By
Anonymous, at 12:57 PM
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