Wherein Amy Learns to Dress Herself

I’m sure you’re all dying to know how my fashion endeavors are going. I’ll let you be the judge.

I eased out of the gate, starting with an ensemble I knew I’d be comfortable in (pic taken in the 6th grade girls’ bathroom omg whatever u so stupid!!1!):

I liked this outfit. I felt good in it, though it struck me as kind of plain. Needed some baubles or something, but Kate hasn’t given me the accessories lesson yet. More anon.

That was my first work outfit. Here’s my first going-out outfit:

As you can see, I was a little unsure. Was it too much? I texted this photo to Kate, and she assured me that it was all good. So, OK. I’d probably wear this again.

The second week at work I wore

I liked this one too and didn’t feel like it needed accessories because of the tie on the shirt? Maybe? What the fuck do I know though.

So… I had been feeling real proud of myself for my efforts, and I told Kate all about my progress. She said, “I’m not hearing about any skirts.”

Daw. What a task-master.

I promised I would wear one skirt every two weeks. The first attempt:

But I messed up, I guess. I showed Kate this picture, and she was sufficiently proud that I had put on a skirt, but apparently, the neckline of the t-shirt is too high.

I think I get bonus points that override my gaffe, however, because
(a) this was the first time I had worn a skirt to work, maybe ever; and
(b) look at my face—you can see how physically and emotionally uncomfortable I was. All day; and
(c) one of the (male) custodians said, “That is a lovely outfit”; and
(d) did you miss it? I SAID TIGHTS. I’M WEARING TIGHTS. TIGHTS.

There’s a story behind the next outfit. On our shopping expedition, I had basically been eating everything Kate and Michelle fed me. If they said something looked good, I bought it, regardless of how I felt in it. But then we got to the Gap, and they pulled this… article of clothing off the rack. I call it an article of clothing because it was a biker jacket, but it was a sweatshirt, but it was a biker jacket, but it was orange, but it was kinda closer to red maybe, and it had an asymmetrical zipper, and whoa, it was so weird, you guys.

Both Kate and Michelle went, “Oooooooooooooh.”

So I said, “Oooooh what?” thinking they were going to say, “What Oompa Loompa on acid designed this thing?” But no.

They both insisted that I try it on because it was awesome, so I did just to humor them, and they both gasped. For real, they gasped, and said things like “HOT”.

At that point, the notion occurred to me that the whole day had been a big practical joke. I’d just been taking everything on faith, and they’d been seeing exactly how gullible I was. But I contemplated it for a while and realized they were my friends, and I’d never know them to be cruel, and maybe they were once again seeing something I wasn’t. So I bought it.

It only took me a month to get up the courage to wear it!

I got about ten “Ms. Scott, I like your jacket”s at school, and just as many compliments that night at the Monti.

OK, then. As I said, what the fuck do I know.

(I know I love my short boots. That I do know.)