I've started this post several times now, jumping from one subject to another, seemingly completely unable to get a grip on what I want to say. I know what I want to write about - fashion, and style, and how they differ from place to place and time to time, and whether they're completely redundant in the dead of winter, when anything nice you put on just has to be covered up by a big coat anyway*. But every time I've started I've got to a point where I've read back what I've written, rolled my eyes and deleted the whole lot. For some reason, I'm having trouble putting thought into words - something that usually doesn't affect me, thankfully, and so is annoying and grump-making when it does.
Thinking about it overnight, I concluded that part of my problem is that I keep doubting whether I have anything to say about fashion that anyone might care to read. I'm far from an expert, after all, despite wearing clothes pretty much all the time. And even though I've always enjoyed fashion, I'm pretty sure there are times fashion has not always enjoyed me. The experiments with hippy chic**, black hair and wearing one color from head to toe particularly come to mind.
But then - isn't three quarters of the fun with fashion being able to experiment, and not taking yourself too seriously? And I know I'd rather be honest about who I am, and I can retrospectively recognize that at times I have been a bad dresser. Most people have. That's why magazines get stars to look back at their red carpet choices, because it's always fun to see that they are, in fact, just like us, regretting past fashion follies***.
So that's where I'm beginning - from an upfront place where I explain that even though I may not have always been awesomely fashionable, and possibly am still not, I like fashion and I like style and I like talking about it, and I'm going to. Because all of that is fun. And so was my long, tie-dyed skirt (at the time - I'm actually blushing as I write this, I swear), and my black hair (for about five seconds, before I realized that I looked more dead than anything else, and spent hundreds of dollars and the better part of a year returning it to my more natural shade of mousy browny-blond), and even my same color from head to toe dressing, which came in one outfit style and two color choices and was completely awesome. If I could get away these days with wearing leggings, an oversized jumper, slouch socks and hi-top sneakers, all in a vibrant shade of pink, I would. My glasses had pink on them too, I think. Looking back, I'm prepared to say that was the best part of being 8.
So with all that in mind, what am I wearing today? How am I enjoying the world of possibilities that is open to me in my decently sized wardrobe?
Should have thought this one through.
I could lie, but I promised to be completely upfront and honest about, ooh, four seconds ago.
Today, on a bleak, grey January day, with sleet and snow falling outside, the heating pumping inside and nowhere to be, I am sporting Ugg boots, leggings, a Hollister t-shirt, and an Abercrombie hoodie.
We're off to a bad start, but stick with me. Some days, it doesn't snow, and some days, I have meetings and places to be, and some days, most days in fact, I want to look pretty and have fun with my outfit. Some days, I just want to stay inside and read my newspaper and write my blog, because that is rare and is also a lot of fun, and this happens to be one of those days. Better luck next time - I promise I'll make an effort, just for you.
Au revoir (that's French you know, very chic) and a bientot!
*I'm feeling January's bleakness, and am on a bit of a countdown out of winter - only 58 days until spring!
**Not so much chic, actually - that's a bit misleading, I'll admit.
***And drinking coffee! And putting petrol into their car! And holding their kids' hands! I don't read Us Magazine regularly, but I'm always so relieved when I pick one up at the gym and realize that famous people also need fuel (for their cars and themselves) and I'm not missing out on some sort of magic world where coffee is unnecessary (ick, sounds like a dreadful place).