Style Wars
For the past two weeks, I have been desperately seeking my style. While I was never a “fashionista”, I was stylish. Mixing vintage styles with modern simplicity and classic pieces with ironic edginess was my look.
Maybe it all happened too fast – the color consultation and the move to suburbia. Instead of learning to color me beautiful but edgy, I colored me too casual and comfy. Not that style and fashion require the squelching of comfort, but do I really need to discuss the slippery slope of oversized clothing and elastic waistbands?
Defining my style seemed a most logical prerequisite for Armoire Therapy to commence properly, but so deep is my style struggle that I simply could not do it alone. I bought a few of those self-help books that focus on defining style and streamlining closets. Perfect!
After answering eight (!) whole questions in Nothing to Wear, I pegged my personal style as Avant-garde/Whimsical or Whimiscal/Avant-garde. The fact that I was trying so desperately to pigeon-hole myself by answering eight questions amused Sharyn to no end. I would have seen the ridiculousness, but I was blinded by a burning desire to climb into my closet a frump and emerge a butterfly.
Do I have to tell you that there is a giant disconnect between my inner style and my inner armoire? Inside, I am a mad melding of Siouxsie Sioux, Cate Blanchett (although I’d say Miss Cate has a healthy dose of Chic in her Avant-garde!) and Maggie Gyllenhal. However, a peek into my armoire reveals a kinship with Minnie Pearl – at least the closes that fit me.
When I look at the clothing I have bought since my weight gain, I see a pattern: The clothing is extremely simple, if not dowdy. In effect, I have been caught in a fashion frump vicious circle. The fatter I got, the frumpier I felt/dressed; the frumpier I felt/dressed the fatter I got.
However, that is in the past. I performed some serious Armoire Therapy this weekend, and I am taking myself for a mini interim shop -- to put some style in the armoire and to celebrate a total of twenty pounds lost.
Maybe it all happened too fast – the color consultation and the move to suburbia. Instead of learning to color me beautiful but edgy, I colored me too casual and comfy. Not that style and fashion require the squelching of comfort, but do I really need to discuss the slippery slope of oversized clothing and elastic waistbands?
Defining my style seemed a most logical prerequisite for Armoire Therapy to commence properly, but so deep is my style struggle that I simply could not do it alone. I bought a few of those self-help books that focus on defining style and streamlining closets. Perfect!After answering eight (!) whole questions in Nothing to Wear, I pegged my personal style as Avant-garde/Whimsical or Whimiscal/Avant-garde. The fact that I was trying so desperately to pigeon-hole myself by answering eight questions amused Sharyn to no end. I would have seen the ridiculousness, but I was blinded by a burning desire to climb into my closet a frump and emerge a butterfly.
Do I have to tell you that there is a giant disconnect between my inner style and my inner armoire? Inside, I am a mad melding of Siouxsie Sioux, Cate Blanchett (although I’d say Miss Cate has a healthy dose of Chic in her Avant-garde!) and Maggie Gyllenhal. However, a peek into my armoire reveals a kinship with Minnie Pearl – at least the closes that fit me.
When I look at the clothing I have bought since my weight gain, I see a pattern: The clothing is extremely simple, if not dowdy. In effect, I have been caught in a fashion frump vicious circle. The fatter I got, the frumpier I felt/dressed; the frumpier I felt/dressed the fatter I got.
However, that is in the past. I performed some serious Armoire Therapy this weekend, and I am taking myself for a mini interim shop -- to put some style in the armoire and to celebrate a total of twenty pounds lost.
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