Category: Fayshun

Let’s talk about fashion, because we haven’t done that in awhile.

You may or may not have followed along in my recent quest.

Me: OK, Ames, you need *boots* and you need a *purse*. You can do this. Go! Me: OR… Or you could go to the liiiiiibrary.

— Avid Bruxist (@avidbruxist) January 10, 2014

I first went to several discount stores: Ross Dress for Less, TJ Maxx, etc. It was not going well.

Is it possible to hate every purse that was ever made? Because I feel like maybe I hate every purse that was ever made.

— Avid Bruxist (@avidbruxist) January 10, 2014

Eventually, I ended up at Macy’s, which seemed to be no better. 

Maybe I should start carrying a backpack again. (Cue Kate screaming at her screen.) — Avid Bruxist (@avidbruxist) January 10, 2014

  The only half-decent ones I found were like 160 bucks. No. Absolutely not.

Purses I won’t buy, part 1: those with a # > than 0 in the hundreds place It’s a glorified bucket for my stuff. It’s a stuff bucket. Jesus. — Avid Bruxist (@avidbruxist) January 10, 2014

I decided to head to other department stores.

Mall walking. Still a thing. Who knew.

— Avid Bruxist (@avidbruxist) January 10, 2014

She was in a nylon track suit, no less!

Purses I won’t buy, part 2: any with tassels I’m not Annie fucking Oakley.

— Avid Bruxist (@avidbruxist) January 10, 2014

My gay husband Paul reminded me that Gypsy Rose Lee, too, wore tassels. That was a good point. I told him I’d buy a tassel-less purse and some sassy pasties.

Purses I won’t buy, part 3: this purse <hork> pic.twitter.com/vILsX5oqHh

— Avid Bruxist (@avidbruxist) January 10, 2014

Seriously, gross.

Purses I won’t buy, part 4: ones with gold accents What am I–fancy? pic.twitter.com/O1LuJ1nLe9 — Avid Bruxist (@avidbruxist) January 10, 2014

Indeed, there were a number of problems with that purse.

Purses I won’t buy, part 5: any of these pic.twitter.com/dFFReYRPTi

— Avid Bruxist (@avidbruxist) January 10, 2014

Finally, I hit Sears--yes, Sears--and the first one I picked up was from a designer with the same name as my sister. Fate.

You may be wondering why I needed boots, given that last year I bought tall boots and short boots. Well. The tall boots, which I loved so much, are wicked uncomfortable. They just barely zip around my calves. It's like wearing calf-tourniquets all day. Plus, as I mentioned, they're so tall, the tops dig into my inner thigh fat. So I never wear them.

I loved the short boots and used to wear them all the time. Used to.

See, Violet does this thing when she's nervous. She collects my shoes and bras. Doesn't chew them; just puts them in her bed or snuggles with them on the couch. I often come home from work to find a shoe, a slipper, a flip-flop, and/or a brassiere next to a warm spot on the chaise.

Annoying to have to go around the house, gather my footwear, and toss my undergarments back in the hamper, but I can't get mad at her because

And besides, she never chewed them.

She must've been real nervous that day. So long, short boots.

The good news is, I went to DSW and found the same exact ones, except they didn't have them in brown, so I bought black. Fine, since I can't wear my black tall boots anyway because torture.

But now I need brown boots. Maybe brown tall boots? That don't boa-constrict or jam themselves into my laygs?

I'm exhausted just thinking about it.

Also, Kate told me to buy

in a variety of colors, you know, for layering with cardigans/jackets/whatnot. So I did.

...It's possible I've done less of the layering and more of the just wearing them with jeans and calling it a day.

Also, I haven't worn a skirt yet this school year.

<cowers, covers head>

And I felt all right, you know. They’re Calvin Klein (thus reasonable quality, I guess? I don’t know these things) and made of stretchy fabric, so they’re comfortable. And the way they felt, the way they fit, I kind of found myself strutting around like Sandy at the end of Grease, when she’s got all that skin-tight business on.

But looking in the mirror/at the picture…

I just don’t dig the shape—so very narrow at the ankles, and so very expansive at the child-birthers. It looks like, if I put my feet together, everything would get wicked precarious wicked fast. The tiniest tectonic movement, and I’d be supine. (Especially in my super-cute, red leather wedge sandals [that, like every other pair of heels, make my feet lose all feeling for 2-5 days].)

This fayshun stuff is hard. (My first-world problems are so hard.)

But the important thing is I’m making progress, right?

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?)

People liked my orange pants, I guess.

What a waste though because you couldn’t see them, and they were super-sweaty on my calves. But the only other black shoes I have are Danskos, and I thought Kate the Ginger Menace would tsk at me if I wore clogs with my sassy orange pants. KATE, YOU’RE IN MY HEAD.

Other than the squeeziness on my calves, I liked this outfit OK. I’d wear it again.

I’d definitely wear the next get-up.

(Sorry about the shmutz on the mirror. Sixth graders.)

I love this outfit and will definitely wear the shit out of it… as soon as I get the shirt fixed. I pulled on a stray thread, and the whole hem came out of the back. Bullshit. I’m taking it back to BR, and they’re going to sew it up, or I’ma put a world of hurt on them.

OK. So. I promised Kate I would wear a skirt once every two weeks (wah!). Well, the school district called a delayed opening on Monday because of inclement weather—that meant I’d have to wear the skirt for three fewer hours than other days (woohooooooooooo!)—so I went for it.

Now, I built the outfit around the tall boots. I was really psyched about showing them off. But when I got dressed, I realized the skirt came down to mid-knee, and the boots came up to mid-knee, and the result was that nary a bit o’ leg showed betwixt, aaaaaand it looked like I had prosthetic legs.

So I switched to my pointy flats.

[Side note: On our shopping trip, Kate kept trying to get me to buy heels.

Kate: What about these?
Me: Those are heels.
Kate: But they’d look so good!
Me: Kate! I told you I can’t wear heels*!
Kate: But they’d look so gooooooooooood.
Me: Kate! It’s a medical issue! After I wore those strappy blue sandals with the wedge heel to Craig and Michelle’s party last summer, my toes were numb until Wednesday. The party was on a Saturday, and I couldn’t feel my feet until Wednesday.
Kate: …What about a kitten heel?
Me: Bah!

*It looks like the tall boots have a heel, but it’s, like, an inch, and besides, they’re Aerosoles, thus they’re pretty cushy. Even so, my toes tingle by the end of the day.]

Kate wanted me to buy a girdle to wear with this skirt. (Nowadays, people say “Spanx”, but let’s call a spade a spade, shall we?) I felt like I was going above and beyond the call of duty by wearing not only the skirt but the tights too, so

Verdict: I felt totally uncomfortable the entire (albeit shortened) day. Kate said, “You look great! What would we have to do to make you comfortable in this?”

I said, “Make it into pants.”

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.)

As promised, Kate the Ginger Menace took me shopping. She, along with our friend Michelle, told me what to try on, what worked, what didn’t, and what would work if I had it tailored.

I’m not gonna lie—it was real stressful for me, and I had to do some deep breathing in Ann Taylor Loft, which was the first store we went into. But I bought stuff, and I told the girls as we walked out the door that I was giving myself an attitude adjustment for the rest of the stores, which I did pretty successfully I think.

The thing is, I don’t understand fashion. I’ve never considered myself a total shlub, but in the past, if I had jeans and a white t-shirt that were clean, I was wearing jeans and a white t-shirt. If I wasn’t wearing jeans and a white t-shirt, I must not have had any that were clean. And I mean, I didn’t own that many white t-shirts, so I wore other things. Like green t-shirts.

But you know, not boxy unisex t-shirts—fitted ladies’ ones that showed that I had a waist and also complemented my eyes. Moreover, my sister had a friend who once said she hated it when people wore running shoes “as attire”, and since then, I’ve always tried to reserve my sneakers for the gym and wear actual shoes when not there. (Except my super-cute pink and gray New Balance. But they’re super-cute.)

Kate, though, Kate wears real clothes and legit shoes and honest-to-god accessories. Every day. (She also wears makeup every day—that’s how she was able to give me the tutorial.) Girl always looks put together. So I listened intently to all her advice.

She had some good blanket statement guidelines, like

• Work with neutrals (gray, brown, black, navy), but add a splash of color;
• Boob pockets—not for people with boobs; and
• A bendable ballet flat, no matter how expensive, is a shit shoe.

Stuff like that. I can remember that.

But the day was also full of new vocabulary (“saturated colors”) and conversations like

Kate: Higher. On the smallest part of your waist. (hitching my skirt up)
Me: Noooooooooooooooooooooo. 
Kate: Yes.
Me: It feels weird. I feel like a kindergartener! I feel like an old lady! I don’t know how I feel!
Kate: It looks better there.
Me: It’s above my belly button!
Kate: Right.
Me: (whimper)

And

Me: What kind of belt would I wear with this?
Kate: None. Unless it was a statement belt.
Me: What’s a statement belt?
Kate: A belt that makes a statement. That ties the outfit together.
Me: What if I just need a belt to hold my pants up?
Kate: (sigh) Then you need to get your pants altered.

And

Kate: The dark jeans and the turquoise top with the open shoulders and the purple jacket.
Me: Yeah.
Kate: That outfit says, “I’m here for sex.”
Me: “I’m here for sex.”
Kate: You’re there for sex.

I bought a bunch of stuff. When we got home, Kate laid everything out on her bed, and I took pictures, for reference, of all the outfits she made. And I’ve worn… some of it. The skirts, not yet, but it’s cold! I’ll wear them. Pretty sure I’ll wear them. At some point. I have to because when else will I get to wear my new

(The other option, other than skirts, is to buy skinny jeans <shudder> to tuck into them.)

Kate got a little concerned today because I haven’t worn many of the clothes yet. But I will, I promise! I know they’re good, they’ll make me look good, even if I don’t necessarily feel at home in them yet. It just takes me some time. Listen, I put on all the makeup last night even though I was going out to dinner with Michelle and her husband, neither of whom I feel the need to impress! Just because I was going out! Progress!

Anyway, maybe I’ll post some photos when I get to that point with the clothes. Like if I get a skirt and the tall boots on. Or if I’m there for sex.