Among my many other substance abuse problems (think coffee, chocolate, wine, half-finished DIY projects…) I am also a self-admitted Fashion Fanatic. Hopelessly addicted to accessories, inevitably lured by the delicate arch of the perfect high heeled boot, irrevocably attracted to the colors, cuts, draping, patterns, and distressed details of fabric lovingly sewn (or more likely harshly stitched by machines) together to create not just a piece of clothing but a statement.
Yes, this addiction is at total odds with previous posts citing my desire to return to basics a la Walking Dead Wyoming. I do desire that, truly. If I was a machete-wielding zombie-killer survivalist, my attire would only ever consist of boots, jeans, flannel, and any riot gear I could lift of some poor dead sucker.
But, alas, that is not (yet) to be.
And, thus, I am cast in the typical (which in and of itself is atypical for me…) roll of shoe-hoarding girly-girl. And my tastes in fashion are just as eclectic (eccentric) as everything else in which I’m interest. Just check out my Pinterest page.
Though I’ve never run myself into debt over clothing (even I have my limits) I can totally sympathize with Isla Fisher’s character in Confessions of a Shopoholic, and I would almost be willing to undergo the hell of Anne Hathaway in The Devil Wears Prada.
I am neither of these incredible ladies, nor do I have anywhere near the bank roll to finance that kind of wardrobe, BUT – I get it. Perhaps I lack the stereotype size 2 figure (reference Featured Image – ha!), the self control to eat a cube of cheese as a meal, nor the superior attitude of the Hollywood portrayal of the fashion forward, but I. DO. Get it.
For many, clothing is simply a method of covering skin in such a way that they’re allowed to frequent places important to basic survival – work, banking establishments, the bar… And they are probably so much more balanced than I am, but oh! How I love that my clothes speak a thousand words before my mouth ever opens.
They help me tell my story in 30 seconds or less. They let me wear the person I want to be at any given moment. I can reinvent myself five times a day. Trade a skirt for ripped up skinny jeans and forego heeled boots in favor of up-cycled combat boots, and poof! – From put-together powerhouse boss-lady to laid-back, fun-loving badass without breaking a sweat. Tadaaaa!
How can you not love that kind of chameleonic transformation? I believe it’s the closest we can come to magic in the real world.
So, yes, I have too many shoes to count, an entire wall dedicated to scarves & jewelry, and an entire closet (and two giant drawers) filled with every many of attire you can think of, but I think of it less as too much clothing and more like a well-stocked communication strategy.
Rock, Paper, Scissors (Lizard, Spock) 