Category: First-World Problems

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.