aka Jude’s fashion therapy corner
Once again we will delve into the deep, dark recesses of my torrid fashion past. When we have further developed our blogger/reader rapport and I feel as though I can really trust you all then we will talk about the late 80’s, early 90’s. This week I found myself in a situation where I wondered if what I was wearing really looked good on me. I can be a tad self-critical. I have at times (read: most of the time . . . actual:all the time) over-emphasized my perceived flaws. This serves in limiting my clothing, hair and make-up choices. I will look at something and immediately see how it will out my overly fair skin or magnify my already ample curves. I will rationalize that I am simply applying what I know about the rules of fashion and a healthy, honest self-image. Alternately, it has been pointed out by my husband Mark, that I may be a tad neurotic. Since he is my husband his opinion is inadmissible. Onward and upward.
Fall season and long sweaters with cowel necks and relaxed shoulder seams abound. As a big fan of ruching (fabric is sewn in a repeated pattern to create gathers or scalloped edges which softens and hides minor bumps and bulges) I really thought I would appreciate the flow-y feel of the long sweater. Sadly, I believed myself to look like a Buddhist monk: all flowing material and zero shape. I needed an opinion and since the twenty-something salesgirls were far too busy discussing how clueless their parents were for asking them to call if they weren’t coming home from the bar so they didn’t worry about their daughters being dead in a ditch somewhere I believed that our opinions may not be stemming from the same stream. Did I not look good in this sweater or was I being too critical? I started to run through the people in my life who would give me some honest feedback. My husband? Not likely, he had to live with me and if he told me I looked shapeless I may unwittingly punish him with icy silence and the occasional stink eye. Unconsciously, honest! My friends? I dunno. Would they respond with “Wow, that looks so great on you!”and secretly be thinking “well, if she likes it and she feels good in it then who am I to say how hideous that ankle length poncho looks on her?” I needed a Trinny or a Susannah to walk into that shop and say very definitively, “The colour is fantastic but that top does nothing for your tits.” Call me jaded but, I don’t believe the commissioned sale person when he or she tells me I look totally amazing. And is it fair to ask my friends to be fashion experts upon whose advice I invest my hard-earned money? I don’t blindly whack down my entire retirement savings on a piece of property my dentist recommends.
One day I may get that impartial judge who helps to persuade me when my own judgement may be clouded or lacking insight. Until then I will revisit the fashion disasters hanging at the back of my closet and laugh. I mean, leg warmers weren’t ever really cool and no one over the age of ten looks good in neon. What skeletons wearing shoulder pads are in your closet?