Wednesday, September 5, 2007

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall...

Recently, I received an email from a fellow blogging mama, letting me know that there was a contest being put on by Parent Blogger Network, which was sponsored by Harper Collins' new book Little Black Book of Style by Nina Garcia. The challenge is to blog about your most hideous wardrobe remnant. The prize? A $250 gift certificate to Coach will be awarded to a randomly selected entrant! That's worth any humiliation brought on by openly talking about my ineptness in fashion.

When I first read it, I thought, "I just purged all my nasty stuff when we left Oregon." But then I really looked at my closet and my current wardrobe. I have always been that girl who can put together a killer outfit in my mind, but when it gets on my 5' 10", two-bills-plus frame (thank you Sweden), it just never materializes (no pun intended). Thigh to bra Spanx are a staple for me.

While I was never a fashion icon, I did have a career there and dressed in more than Capri's and T's with semi-coordinating flip-flops. This summer my husband, two-year-old son and I moved cross-country and I became a stay at home mom. When purging in Oregon, I was preparing for a life of sweatsuits and sippy cups. I sifted through my clothes again, and gasped in horror...I am a mom now! No, wait...I am MY mom!!!

Throughout my childhood, and still today, her wardrobe consisted of about 50 pairs of cotton twill-denim-ish pants with an equal quantity of striped and solid T-shirts. My older sister used to laugh and call them her adult Garanimals. She had no muss, no fuss short hair that was permed about every other week, wore no make-up, and used a brush-style curling iron as a blow dryer/comb/styling tool. With that said, I have great memories of my childhood. My mom always got right in with us. Plus, she has OCD, undiagnosed until all of us were out of the house, and so had to have the flexibility to compulsively bend and clean at any given moment.

I have yet to lose my baby weight and my child is two years old. Add to this that this non-style allows me to be a little less of a freak. I would be like Mommie Dearest if I were wearing cashmere jogging suits, or one of the other not-so-practical suggestions that have been offered, and my little darling put his ketchup-smeared hands on it. I don't have the funds to purchase that once, let alone to have it dry-cleaned or replaced.

I kind of like that I wear clothes that won't cause me to have an aneurism when my kiddo wants a hug and then ends up getting muddy footprints on me. In my mind there is always the promise that this is temporary, and that my true sense of style, attempted or achieved, will come back to the forefront when I no longer have toddlers. I do have some good, stylish, peices that I wear to non-toddler functions. I still get my hair foiled regularly at a salon that is not walk-in only, and am an independant skincare and cosmetic consultant. I know how to get dolled up when the occasion calls. I say all this so you won't think I'm a total loser when you read what comes next.

At the beginning of Summer, I went shopping for some seasonal clothes. Realizing that I no longer have legs that are worthy of either Nair or its short shorts, I decided that I would be most safe selecting a multitude of Capri pants in different prints that I could pair with my plethora of solid T's from Targ-aay.

After trying on about 10 pairs with my child in the shopping cart (yes, I said shopping cart which means that I was not in a Stacy and Clinton approved store) and feeling like I wanted to cry because they were just not fitting right, I saw them. It was as if the store's lighting all went out, save for one rack, with a choir of angels drawing me to the perfect pants.

There they were; available in 5 colors (including 3 shades of khaki). Mid-calf denim-twill-cotton-ish pants with an ELASTIC WAIST BAND AND DRAWSTRING. I'm not talking about the breezy linen drawstring pants that you see in J.Jill or Eddie Bauer; these were full-on mom pants. I bought them immediately in one size too large so that I would be comfortable, although tightening the drawstring to make them fit causes a front butt and other unflattering silhouette issues. But I didn't care because I felt like I was wearing sweats, only slightly more socially acceptable.

And I didn't stop there. A few others, including a pair of butterfly camo Bermudas and Black camo rip-stop cotton capris with drawstring rouching up the leg (don't worry, I haven't worn those out of the house yet), somehow made it to the counter and into my sad little bag of purchases. All of which were one size too large, because "What if they shrink?"

As I flipped through the stacks of my clothes tonight, trying to find some inspiration for this blog, I reflected on the little wooden sign which hangs neatly in my bathroom..."Mirror, Mirror on the wall, I am my mother after all."

1 comment:

Karianna said...

Yes. I wondered why my mom's closet was so hideous. And then I looked at mine. How did it happen? Argh! :-)