Cool or Crazy?

Getting dressed has always been a little bit of a roulette game for me ~ I’ve been known to wear something because I think it’s “funny” and I assume everyone else will get the joke.   {According to my husband and Sara ~ who are basically the same personality anyway ~ this does not always translate.}   When I’m not sure if a combo I’ve put together makes me look cool or crazy, I usually ask Scott that very question – but Scott wasn’t home when I got dressed this morning, so I had to wing it.

Since giving birth OVER A YEAR AGO (I can’t even claim new-mom status any more, I’m pretty sure) I’ve been trying really hard to reclaim my sense of style before it’s lost to the momiform for good (okay, since giving birth is an outright lie, but probably since like…July) and I gotta admit I am not having the easiest time doing so.

There are many reasons for this.

#1.   Styles have changed a little since the last time I got dressed.   Gotta catch up.

#2.  Missing the mark on the “isn’t this ironic” look might have been cute when I was 20, but at the ripe old age of 29, I think my window of passing things off as youthfully “cute” is probably behind me.    Time to start dressing like a grown-up.

#3.  In the past three years I have gone from a size 10 to a size 2 to a size 16 to a size 6 again (again, being because I was a size 6 before I was a size 10 in the first place.   I’m hypothyroid, I live in LA, and I love food, okay?)    That means that the size tags in my wardrobe read like the clearance rack at TJ Maxx, and I’m currently faced with more clothes than I can fit in my closet, which is not small.

#4.   Who the fuck has time to get dressed?

So, I’ve been slowly digging through the pieces that I have, trying to figure out what still works, and what’s goodwill, and how many pairs of fat jeans I should save for a rainy day.   It’s a nightmare disaster, and I’m at my wits end.   So help me.    Tell me, blog readers, that’s today’s outfit up top.    Is it crazy, or cool?

A little background ~ to base your judgments off of: I wore it to a meeting this morning with a camel trenchcoat (because it is effing cold here) red ray bans, and my yellow bag that I like to grab when Dee isn’t with me.    Are your eyes burning yet, or are we still okay?

Accessorized, with Attitude.

{Coat: Banana Republic, my new 5$ Jeans seen HERE, Bag: Zambos & Siega, Sunglasses: Rayban, Top: Leyendecker Los Angeles}

Due to a tightly-scheduled (read: poorly-scheduled) morning I was forced to revert to a top bun to disguise where my hair dried weird from sleeping on it.   The meeting went well, and no one seemed to be outwardly disturbed by my outfit, so that was good.   But when I was leaving I realized that the doors to the elevator were mirrored, and there was a Heather’s poster behind me in the lobby and I thought I looked kind of cool, so I took out my iPhone to take a picture for you, but the doors opened just as I posed and snapped it, so instead I got a really blurry picture of a man’s feet while he politely didn’t laugh in my face for catching me being an idiot.   I hereby vow never to attempt taking a picture of myself in public ever again.

I stopped at Starbucks on the way home, and the 16-year-old Barista told me she liked me outfit, and then asked me if I was an artist.   I’m not sure if that’s a point in the Pro column or Con one.    On the upside, I do like compliments; on the downside, this one came from a gothic sixteen year old wearing too much eyeliner who was looking at me like I was everything she one day hoped to be.    Which either makes me cool, or like the old guy at a high school party who you didn’t realize was a total lech until years later.

Also, here are my new booties from Aldo, which I’m 100% certain are cool, no matter what you say.

They’re felt, so they collect stuff though, which is kind of a bummer.   Obviously, I did not break out the lint roller for this picture.   Sorry.

Okay, that’s it.   What do you think, blog readers?   Do I look crazy or cool?    Giving you vertigo?  Too many dots?   I can take it.   I think.

Feed Me Seymour