It happens every few years. Suddenly nothing in my closet is right. It all feels dated, looks awkward and makes me want to scream.
This time the catalyst was spring. The trees were blooming, color was beginning to make its way back into my world and the weather was warming up.
Of course, the first day I needed to put on something light, I seriously had nothing to wear. Nothing I liked anyway. Well, let me rephrase that...nothing my kids liked. You see, I have teenage girls. They love their momma, but they are quick to point out when my outfits are not up to par. Which is ironic since I began my college career pursuing fashion design.
But I'll give it to them.
Lately, my choices seem to be driven more by comfort than fads. Most days, I go for easy to wear, not best dressed. I don't see many people on a regular weekday, driving and dropping off at school and I think I would look a little silly in a short skirt, midriff baring tank and heels walking through Target to get my laundry detergent.
Well, that and the fact that I am 47.
Jeans and t-shirts are my uniform now. On a dressy day, I'll add pearls and a pair of boots, but you get the basic picture. Unfortunately, jean weather is slowly being phased out as the temperatures rise, so the girls and I hit the mall in pursuit of some fun new outfits. I was thrilled when I entered the dressing room. Less thrilled with the we all came out to the center of the room to show off our picks.
It was eye opening, to say the least.
Now, before I get into the nitty gritty, I want to preface this story with the fact that I am underweight and always have been. Fast metabolism, nervous energy, genetics, whatever you want to call it, I'm thin. Most of the time it's fine, but sometimes, it downright sucks. Over the years, I have been pricked for more thyroid tests than you can imagine. I have had to drink that awful contrast dye and pasty protein shakes on too many occasions and I get lectured every single time I go to a doctor. Yeah, yeah, we get it, I'm thin and because of it, I am not what you'd call hearty stock, but the upside is, that I usually look pretty good in clothes.
You see, even at 5'8" with a small waist, no one at 47 looks good next to a tanned, toned, teenager. Nobody. I don't care how great you look for your age. Your not 17 anymore.
And neither am I.
I stood there in my age appropriate clothes, staring into the mirror, thinking, oh boy, it's time for a change... again.
You see, every few years, I fall into a style that I think suits me and my decade well. Then a birthday hits and suddenly, I don't feel right in my clothes anymore.
They fit, they just don't...fit.
I start looking through catalogs, my Pinterest boards fill up with new hairstyles and evening gowns (you know, in case a gala comes up. On my way home from Target). Gowns that look a lot less hot Hollywood starlet and a lot more mother of the bride.
You see, every few years, just like my house, I need to redecorate myself.
I'm not talking major renovations here, just a few tweaks to freshen things (me) up. It's like recovering the pillows or changing out the drapes, adding just enough new to give the place a lift, bring it up to date, make it look contemporary, while maintaining its classic style. Whether we're talking home decor or mommy makeover, I'm not an big overhaul kind of girl.
I swap out just enough to find the pretty again and truth be told, I've already been renovated, a number of times actually.
I have had braces.
Apparently, my teeth like their original position best and while I am not pleased, I don't have the energy or motivation to fight them a third time. I was born a blond and I intend to stay that way.
I did go red once and, while my husband thought it was awesome, I had no idea who that woman in the mirror was...which after a decade of marriage is probably precisely the reason my husband liked it so much.
I'm not particularly fond of my droopy skin and like Nora Ephron once said, I don't like my neck. More renovations I am not going to tackle. I don't like knives, needles or even Novocain, so as much as I hate those lines and sags, I'm afraid they're here to stay.
I don't like to advertise it, but there are a few structural issues here too. My hip gets stiff if I sit too long and my back is not what it once was. Those three inch heels in the closet should be donated, because I will never, ever wear them again. Sad, because in my opinion, there is truly nothing sexier than a pair of long legs parked in a fabulous set of spikes, but I am in no way willing to undergo spinal surgery for the sake my of haughty heels.
|Yes, these really are my shoes.|
You get the picture.
With a little rearranging and a few new accessories, I'll find my new style and fall in love with me again.
Me at 47.
Do you redecorate you?