Fayshun! Amy Goes Rogue, and It Doesn’t Go That Well

We’ve gotten to the point in Amy’s Fantastic Fashion Voyage when you’ll be seeing some of the same items as before but in different combinations. As I mentioned, after our excursion to the outlets, we put all my purchases on Kate’s bed, she laid out ensembles, and I took pictures of them with my phone. I never would’ve put the following items together, but I have photographic evidence in my stream that it’s a legit outfit, so don’t fight with me.

I liked this outfit OK. I mean, it’s a skirt, so I was uncomfortable as hell all day. Also, I feel like I look real hippy (wide-below-the-waist, not peace-love-drugs) in this skirt, but Kate said. Kate said.

Next up is an item you haven’t seen yet. Kate fell in love with this stripey blazer from Ann Taylor Loft, and she promised I could pair the polka-dotted cami with it (even though it looked real trippy to me), so I did.

But I also messed things up with an unfortunate choice of pantaloons.

Also not ATL, trouser jeans from <hangs head> Coldwater Creek. Stop laughing! I swear they looked good when I bought them a year ago! They’ve just gotten all weird and squeezy in the wrong places from the laundry. I showed this photo to Kate, and she said, “Oh. They have side pockets?” I admitted as much. She said side pockets were a no-no.

So, Take 2: Same blazer, white tank, grey Gap slacks, schmutz on mirror.

Kate gave this outfit the stamp of approval. Feeling like Matlock [let the record reflect that the Avid Bruxist has never seen Matlock], I said, “But, Kate, these pants that you made me buy have (dun dun DUN) side pockets! Ha!”

She said it didn’t matter because they weren’t jeans.

But… jeans are pants.

Aren’t they?

So confused.

That wasn’t the only time I tried to slip an item from my old wardrobe into the mix. This attempt was a little more successful, I think.

I showed Kate and our friend Lindsay this picture and asked, “Would this outfit be a good candidate for a statement belt?” Kate said yes, a skinny belt right at the smallest part of the waist (so high!), and I could get one cheap at Target. When I asked what color, they both started shouting,

PURPLE.

YELLOW.

RED.

PINK.

ORANGE.

They basically named all the colors. I went to Target yesterday.

So far, a hit and a miss, but then I realized it was Skirt Week. I didn’t want to wear the navy one again (it’s so short!), and I didn’t want to wear the pencil skirt again (it’s so tight!), so I pulled out a skirt from the back of my closet.

That evening, Kate was lifting on one side of the gym, and I was lifting on the other. Between sets, I mouthed, “I wore a skirt today,” and pantomimed to illustrate.

She made all kinds of sexy gestures back at me.

At the end of the strength segment, I went and got my phone with the picture on it. Before I showed it to her, I said, “Listen, it was a skirt I’ve had for awhile.”

Kate cocked her head and frowned. “Yeah?”

“It was a hand-me-down from a friend…”  She started to shake her head.

“…in maybe 2004?” I said. Kate coughed.

I said, “It’s paisley. Is that bad?”

And Kate took a lap around the gym to compose herself.

Now I was proud of myself, as usual, for just putting the damn thing on. (I also wore my TALL BOOTS, which [sadly] are super-uncomfortable because I’m a short person, so they kept jamming into the fat part of my inner-knee-thigh area. They also rubbed pills into my motherfucking tights.) Whether Kate had a problem with the skirt’s pattern was unclear, but she did say, “It’s too long for you. It doesn’t hit you in the right spot.”

Wah. I don’t get this “right spot” business. The paisley one hits me just about where the pencil skirt does, and Kate said the pencil skirt is “made of magic”. Harrumph.

She said if I want to keep the skirt, I need to get it hemmed. Nope. To Goodwill it goes.

Back to Kate-sanctioned articles of clothing:

Those orange pants. I like them. I do. It’s just, my lower half kinda draws the eye all on its own just with its… volume, you know? It’s hard to come around to the idea of adding the sartorial equivalent of a neon sign.

Speaking of strapless bra, ready yourselves, steady yourselves, hold onto your nuts for the I’m-here-for-sex outfit: dark Gap jeans, Banana Republic top, pointy Nine West flats, and purple pleather jacket (not pictured, but you’ve seen it).

I didn’t feel like I was there for sex. At best, I felt like I was there for a poorly-timed kiss next to my car after an awkward second date.

In actuality, I was there for an evening with my friends after which I went home alone to my dogs. As per uszh.

Coming soon: JEANS.

(Anybody want to go jeans shopping?)