"Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence on society." ~Mark Twain
Oh, Mark Twain. You were one sassy, clever, little mustached man.
I spend a lot of time thinking about what I'm going to wear on any given day. Because I work in a bar, I have my bar "uniform": Some black leggings that feel mostly like pajama pants (since my shortest shift is typically 8 hours--optimizing comfort is ideal. Also, they make my butt look great... and well, that doesn't hurt tips), a tank top/shirt with MY BAR'S NAME written in large print across the chest, and ked's. This is what I wear most of the time, or so it feels like. Then, on other days, I have my yoga clothes and sweat pants and bang around clothes. I don't know at what point it was that I became comfortable wearing bang around clothes around New York... I used to ALWAYS get dressed at least SEMI nicely for venturing out into the city... I think I secretly feared Stacy or Clinton from TLC's "What Not to Wear" would see me and judge me... but now, unless I have something to do, I'm usually wearing something with a hole or a bleach stain somewhere on it. However, on days when I get to wear REAL clothes... I agonize about it.
There are two things I tend to think about while in yoga (though don't tell my yoga teachers, because we're supposed to be clearing our minds and focusing on the postures. Yeah. I suck at that): 1) What I'm going to eat when I get home. 2) What I'm going to wear later that day.
I HATE picking out what I'm going to wear. I usually stare at my closet, which is STUFFED with clothes I hardly wear, and decide that I'd just rather be naked. Hence why I usually end up in something with bleach stains or holes--because THAT choice says "no, I didn't plan this outfit, I just threw it on... so don't JUDGE ME."
Today I have the pleasure of spending time with one of my best friends and her little sister who recently moved to the city who I am now ALSO recruiting to be my friend. And it's her birthday! Or... it was yesterday... but I had to work. So I'm celebrating with her today. We'll call her Skyrim. Because she has introduced me to Skyrim. Different story, though. Anyway, the world is my oyster today. I can wear any gosh darned thing that I want to celebrate the day of Skyrim's birth . Casual? Dressy? Semi-Casual? Bleach and holes? Why yes, I can do any of those things.
But when I opened my closet, one dress stared me down. It looked me in the face and said "Hey, hooker, you've only worn me once. Remember that awful date you went on? The one where that drunken, alcoholic, (that's redundant) 37 year old man said you were 'decent looking, going to lose your looks in 5 years, and a skinny fat girl'? Remember that date? Yeah. Well, I was a really cute dress that now you can't stand because when you see me THAT'S ALL YOU THINK OF. Ha! I make you feel bad about yourself! I'm an evil dress! Muwahahahahahah."
I took a deep breath. ripped it off the hanger, and put it over my head. I didn't feel any different... I didn't feel like a skinny fat girl... maybe a little decent looking... but certainly not terribly bad about myself. So, I went and looked in the mirror. And hey, the dress is a little big now! SCREW YOU DRESS! All my yoga and good eatin' are paying off! (Disregard the entire box of Samoas I ate last night at work, and the entire platter of nachos, as well...) And guess what? I don't need to wear a bra with you! THAT'S A WIN WIN! Comfort and style? Yes please. I added my gray lace tights, favorite cow boy boots, and lesbian power blazer, and suddenly it feels like a new dress.
So, no, Mark. I beg to differ. The clothes don't make the man. The WOMAN makes the clothes. Brittany: 1. Wardrobe: ...probably still winning. Self esteem: on the rise.
Happy birthday to Skyrim! Oh, to be 23 again...