Where I Draw the Line

I know now why middle aged women begin to wear questionable clothing. Sequins, stretch pants (hopefully not the same outfit), weird jeans, etc. It’s not because they’ve suddenly gone blind or lost all fashion sense. It’s because their teenage daughters have begun raiding their wardrobe. These women haven’t given up on looking good, they’re just desperate to have something in their closet that will still be there when they go looking for it, something their teen wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. I can now relate.

She’s not after my jewelry, I know that. There’s only one thing of value, and I’m not sure she’s all that interested in a macaroni necklace. And I don’t worry about my jeans. She weighs about 12 pounds with rocks in her pockets. I weigh closer to 15 pounds, you know. And she’s not interested in my makeup. Because I don’t actually have any. Well, I do. but a half-tube of mascara I got free from Earth Fare last year and some eye shadow left over from the last century don’t seem to speak to her. Weird, I know. The things that are disappearing from under my nose are my tops.

I give her credit. She does ask before she borrows. Except for my Birkenstock clogs, which I know are hidden away in her room somewhere, and I will find them or die trying. I told you Birkenstocks are cool!  I digress. She asks. But it still bugs me. She raided the storage shelves yesterday and emerged bearing an armload of treasures, which, to add insult to injury, she proceeded to model for me. It is really unfair that they all look so much better on her. They were are mine. The really cute oversize sweater makes her look like an adorable little elf. The same garment makes me look like the Michelin man. The old sweat shirt makes her look all cozy and comfortable. It makes me look like I’ve given up on life.

Fine. She can have them. I can’t wear them again knowing how good they could look (but don’t). And she uses lots of products from the Lotion and Smelly Stuff Works, so she has effectively scent-marked all my sweaters. We know I won’t be wearing those again.

It’s not all bad, I guess. In a way, it’s validating. My taste can’t be too far off if my kid wants to wear steal my clothes. And there’s plenty more where that came from. All I have to do is go back to the thrift store to replenish the wardrobe. But this time, she went too far. She asked to wear my Slytherin t-shirt.

Is nothing sacred?

She has yet to ask to borrow THIS sweater. It is made from genuine boomkin pelt, I think.

 

Notes From the Fashionista

Okay, that title might be a bit of a stretch. I have barely enough fashion sense to match my socks. But that doesn’t mean that I have nothing to teach you.

I have lost a bit of weight in recent months, and have finally achieved my goal of being snake-bait.  I’ve had to hit the stores recently in search of some awesome new jeans. I normally find trying on clothes to be depressing and demoralizing. But with my smaller form, I have to admit my hunts this weekend was kind of fun. Especially enjoyable was rejecting garments because they were too big. I could get used to that. Self-esteem at an all-time high, I did something really nuts. For the first time ever in my life, I tried on a pair of skinny jeans.

I love the idea of skinny jeans. I want a pair of pants that can make me look like I eat like a bird and work out religiously without having to actually do anything. Skinny jeans could be the answer to my vanity and lack of self-control. You better believe I tried them on!

They fit. I guess. Here’s the lesson I took away from it. Skinny jeans are designed to make skinny people look skinnier and the rest of us look like Easter eggs on stilts.

They were comfortable, no doubt. Stretchy denim that forms itself unobtrusively to my curves like a big hug. What’s not to like? Oh, yeah. That roll of flab that’s now hanging over my belt. Pretty. Yes, squeezing into tight pants can make our legs look twig-like, but they are low-rise, and those 10 displaced pounds have to go somewhere. They’re denim, not magic. And I hate say it, but wearing a large, untucked shirt with them is fooling no one.

It’s logical to assume that tight jeans would really highlight the curves. And in places they do. But there are limits to what mere cloth can do. I am very, very sorry to have to be the one to say it. In order for a caboose to look totally awesome in a pair of skinnies, it needs to have some muscle tone to start with.The fabric is fairly unforgiving. It clings to muscle, and squashes flab.

Skinny jeans are the sports-bra for the rear. Those who aren’t in good shape are asking for a bad case of uni-bum, that frightful condition where ample hips are squished so tightly into a pair of pants that they bag in the seat, giving the impression that their owners have no tushy at all. It is an epidemic in malls everywhere. You know it. You’ve seen it, the person in front of you whose legs appear to be attached directly to their torso. Uncool.

And what is the lesson here? Just this. Skinny jeans are for actual skinny people. No exceptions. Ever. Ever, ever. ‘Nuff  said.