I was trying on clothes, getting ready to go to dinner, when I remarked to my husband that I had nothing to wear. The sweater didn’t seem quite right with the pants, a blouse didn’t look good either, and finding the correct shoes was hopeless. I said nothing was working and, when he asked what didn’t match, I sputtered, "Me. Nothing matches me!"
The exasperation I felt was something I deal with only too often, and I know I’m not alone. I might love the garment in the store, but when I actually wear it, it somehow goes from smashing to shabby.
I do something to clothes, and it isn’t good. I know people who could cut head and arm holes in a burlap bag, toss it on and, with a snappy little belt, look like they just stepped out of Vogue Magazine. I, on the other hand, could don a thousand dollar outfit and people would whisper behind my back, "What the heck is she doing in that burlap bag?"
My husband sort of understands the problem, so he never says, "You’re not going to wear THAT, are you?" The most guidance he is willing to give is, "Well, I like the other one better" or, "That looks fine." "Fine" is not good, but it’s better than, "Eeeeuw, why don’t you clean out your closet?"
Knowing I am clothing-challenged, my husband actually went with me to Chico’s, and trudged from rack to rack, commenting on fabrics, colors, and accessories. After about fifteen minutes, even with all that help, or maybe because he was so sincere, I suddenly jammed everything back on the rack, blurted, "I’m not buying anything," and we left. Actually, I left, and he trailed behind, saying, "What? What?"
I was so upset I was near tears, and he kept asking what was wrong. I said I couldn’t articulate it, even though I really did know what the problem was. I was a blob – a fashion flop – an ugly old thing. Saying it out loud, though, could be a jinx and might force the fashion fairy to work her magic in reverse. She might actually crack me on the head with her wand and send my chin to my ankles.
Half an hour later, I changed my mind. Trusting my husband’s belief that I could look decent in something other than a shift designed by Omar the Tent Maker, I decided to take a chance. I returned to Chico’s and bought what I liked. No, I haven’t worn it yet because I don’t want it to go bad. It looks great as long as it’s hanging in my closet, and that makes me feel fashionable.
Since this most recent shopping trauma, I have calmed down a little and am now more objective about my problem. In fact, I believe I have found the culprit. All of this angst can be blamed on mirrors because, without them, my clothes could actually come out of the closet. Without mirrors, I wouldn’t know how much style those cute little outfits lose, when they go from hanger to hips.
There really needs to be a manufacturer’s disclaimer on all full-length (and magnifying) mirrors. It should say something like, "Caution! Use of this device may be hazardous to your self-image and should only be used in soft, indirect lighting." It wouldn’t hurt to add, "People with weak egos should avoid use of this device altogether."
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