Inappropriately dressed holding vegetables…

Holly-FarmI wore clothes all day yesterday that I hated.  It wasn’t that they looked terrible.  They weren’t stained.  They weren’t itchy.  But they weren’t me.

I am not a sleeveless arm person.  I am not a tight clothing person.  I don’t enjoy sucking in my stomach all day to avoid a publicly humiliating muffin-topping experience.  And seriously, who goes to pick up produce dressed like a back up singer?  At first I told myself that I was wearing something I hated just because of my fashion quest.   It’s all part of the experiment, right?  But that’s not the whole truth.

Through out my life I’ve often worn clothes I hated.  I hated my wedding dress, but I bought it because the salespeople insisted it looked fantastic on me – Gee, I’d hate to disappoint them…   I wore a jumpsuit to a college party because another friend was wearing a jumpsuit and promised we’d be the coolest people there and not just two nerds that looked like they just graduated from flight school.  When I was seven, I wore my favorite Snoopy dress to a friend’s house to impress her, but fell off her roof instead, ripping the dress and only really impressing on her the fact that I lacked good balance.

I’ve ignored my “don’t wear that” inner voice for years and it got me thinking…   As women, who are we dressing for?  Some of us dress for men’s attention.  Some of us dress for other women’s approval or even envy.  And some of us – the very few lucky ones — dress for ourselves.   These women leave the house happy and confident and the rest of us take note.  Not that these women care, of course, because they’re not dressing for us and that makes us love them even more.

So that’s the real fashion goal.   To have the knowledge and confidence to just throw together an amazing outfit that I love AND the whole world loves but that I DON’T CARE THAT THEY LOVE IT.

My other goal is to never jump off a roof to impress anyone again.  Even if your dress has Woodstock on it, that doesn’t mean you can fly.

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