Why I'll Never Be a Fashionista

Remember in high school when fashion was super important? There were always the "IT" girls who wore the top of the line clothing thus setting the standard for your school. (These were the cheerleaders of course.) Then the popular "sporty" girls. And beneath them, the "nerdlettes". Lastly, there were the weird girls. (Don't tell me your school didn't have them because EVERY school has them. These are the girls who ate paste in kindergarten, did a science project in the 6th grade on boogers, and wore moon boots 8 out of the 10 months.) Since I was a "nerdlette", and never having a good fashion influence at home, (Sorry Mom, but no woman should ever have THAT much leopard print in their closet at one time.) I didn't really fit into the fashionably aware category. (Fashionable clueless maybe.) BUT, I was young and skinny, with shiny, bouncy hair and smooth skin. What the hell did I care what I wore? Jeans and a shirt made sure I wasn't naked and made me happy because I was comfortable. I was probably more worried about my next science test anyway.

Add a few (plus a few more) years and three kids to the picture. I'm not skinny anymore since I've added some baby weight. (This is said with extreme sarcasm since my first "baby" will be 16 this year.) I can't get away with the cute fashions designed for the young hip crowd anymore, and honestly, who would want to? Have you seen some of these designs? If I'm ever bored, plunk me down in front of a fashion show and I will be entertained for hours. Do people really WEAR feathers and garbage bags together? Is that the hottest fashion? Really? And what's up with the dresses that have 16 feet of material pooled at the model's feet? It looks like someone forgot to hem it after Andre the Giant tried it on. But I digress.

Three kids later and I've found I want to wear clothes for comfort. Yes, I understand that this is a novel idea in a world where woman suffer for their beauty. I just can't find it within myself to care if I'm wearing the latest trends. Give me cords and a turtleneck sweater and I'm happy as a pig in mud. It's not like I need to look like Cindy Crawford when I'm whipping up spaghetti and meatballs and throwing a load of laundry in the washer. I'm pretty sure no one has ever worn Versaci while scrubbing the tile grout. And not one of my kids have ever seen me come through the door after work and said, "And who are you wearing?" This probably stems from the fact that, unless I have somewhere to go in the evening, my pajama pants and I are reunited without fail. Seriously, if the world made it okay to be in public (without ridicule) in pajama pants, I'd probably throw out every other single pair of pants I own. I mean, these things are fantastic. Elastic waist, comfortable material, and a look that says I'd rather be lounging than cooking dinner.

So if you ever see me out and I'm all "girled up" with heels and a dress, don't pity me. I'll be dreaming of the moment when I can strip off those gut pinching pantyhose and cozy up in some thick socks, pajama pants, and a cozy sweatshirt. After all, no one said I was a fashionista.