minalisms


    Posts Tagged ‘fashion’

    Elastic pants and babydoll blouses

    Friday, February 26th, 2010

    I had a liberating experience this past weekend —  I bought clothes that fit.

    I’m in the second half of my pregnancy and I was still putting off the purchase of maternity clothes until recently, telling myself that I could do without for a little longer and to continue with the rubber-band-through-the-button-loop technique for my pants.

    Quite simply, I was behaving like a moron.

    The second I pulled on the pants in the dressing room of a maternity store, feeling the stretchy waistband hug – not suffocate – my belly, I did my happy dance. Booty shakin’. Arms pumping. Head bobbing. All of this and there wasn’t even music involved.

    When that was over, I threw back the curtain of the dressing room and walked out to my waiting husband. He noticed the goofy smile on my face and even goofier back-and-forth march I did for him. And when no one was looking, I flashed him my belly – pronounced but content under a swath of black elastic.

    This is the best thing ever!” I exclaimed, maybe a bit too loud.

    So I bought two more pants, a pair of jeans and three blouses, all of which look ridiculously adorable on me. (Yeah, I said it.)

    I don’t care that it’d qualify as a fashion faux pas to the Nth degree, but I plan to rock my maternity pants for a very … very … long time.

    This is depressing

    Tuesday, November 3rd, 2009

    Today, I noticed another one of my shoes had a broken heel, making this the second pair in three months that must be fixed or thrown out.

    “Great, now I have to go shoe shopping,” I complained.

    Wait, what did I just say?

    But it’s true. I couldn’t care less about shopping for new duds. I’m not the least bit intrigued about this season’s fall boots or want to stock up on fuzzy sweaters and wool skirts. I stopped caring about fashion about a year ago. That’s why I rotate through the same three work pants every week. On weekends, I stand inside my closet and stare; yet nothing inspires me, so I pull out something drab yet comfortable and conclude, “I don’t care. Who really cares? I don’t care!!”

    This is depressing me.

    I want my vanity back. I want back the part of me that didn’t mind the fuss of makeup and dress-up. Bring back the girl who invested in herself — With time and money and confidence.

    The metaphor

    Wednesday, October 21st, 2009

    There used to be a time when my eyes would light up at the sight of 4-inch-high polka-dot stilettos in size 7. Or I’d see a heather gray pencil skirt that hugged me just right. Back then, a gold-and-silver beaded clutch within a pile of thrift-store rubbish was a treasure find, and my pursuit for the most glamorous shade of red lipstick was a worthy challenge.

    (You know where I’m going with this, don’t you?)

    I still have a majority of those items, but now I look at them with disdain because they remind me of diminishing youth — one that I don’t forsee returning.

    I glance at the dusty stilettos quizzically, not daring to put them on and risk tripping and breaking my pelvis. The pencil skirt — well, that’s gone, donated in a clothing swap with friends who evidently have the discipline to keep their cute waistlines. God only knows why I’ve kept the red lipstick, which looked pretentious even in my early twenties.

    But the clutch — I will never let that go. Because it’s still exquisite, despite its beads somewhat dull after years of handling.

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