Remember that episode of Sex and the City when Samantha Jones is convinced she lost her orgasm and spends the course of the episode looking for it?
Well! I think I lost my style and that last week in New York was a metaphor for an episode that found me in pursuit of my lewk.
This is not a sympathy solicitation. The proof is in the slideshow. Save for two outfits (brown dress + shearling coat, white jeans + Matrix coat if Keanu Reeves doubled as a 1970s police officer) that were worn four days apart, the rest were a mess. Either a mess or even worse — plainly unremarkable.
So what in the good name of silk polka dot day time pajamas is happening to me?
Simply, I might be in the thick of a transition — that awkward period wherein all the stuff you’ve spent years collecting to build upon the identity you’re projecting no longer pushes the pressure points you need them to. I hate how cropped jeans look with ankle boots. Never want to see another pair of culottes. Need a break from collared button down shirts yet these items are kind of all I know — the easy, no-brainer-or-frills tricks that make getting dressed a quick process. When it takes too long you start to overthink it and when you overthink it you end up looking like this.
Yikes.
Of course, such a transition has its perks. Being forced out of the cleavage of your wardrobe’s familiarity allows you to test, explore — fundamentally get to know yourself better. Just when you thought you’d eased into the basic and unflinching principles of identity, poof! There they go. No longer relevant. Which is exciting, isn’t it? Because it means you’re a lot more complex than you think you are. You’re changing — evolving, and now you can build a new set of temporary tattoos to reflect that.
For what it’s worth, I do recall feeling similarly at Fashion Week’s finish line last February, too. So it could be that I’ve just not quite figured out how to feel good about myself during this time of year — but that’s the other thing, right? It boils down to exactly nothing more or less than the vital experience of feeling.
We can spend hours talking about the actual clothes, but it is so not about that. It never is. So what if I wore a black sweater and pants? Yeah it’s quiet, but it’s not BAD. The thing is, it’s also not me. It positions me in a box I really don’t want to fall into. So this swings right back around to that magical transformative stuff — the mood potion that changes our perceptions of self. Feeling like shit by simple virtue of what you’re wearing is a strong and powerful reminder of how easy it can be to flip the switch. To pick yourself out of a doldrum by the simple activity of changing what you’re wearing. Like anything else it’s a prison or a fortress and even if you do feel like you’ve lost it, there’s ultimately no such thing. Samantha Jones got her orgasm back. I’m pretty sure I’ll be okay.
Oh! And for what it’s worth, you’re totally coming with me as I figure this shit out. Stay tuned.
