So you know how yesterday I was bemoaning fashion and wishing for corsets and bustles?
Turns out I'm a bit of an idiot. The answer was there all along.
See, my uniform for the past 20 years has been jeans + shirt. Boots in winter, sandals in summer. T-shirts and tank tops. Jeans are functional, long-lasting, and go with anything. You can climb trees in them, chase children in them, go to parties in them, turn somersaults in them, paint in them, eat cupcakes in them. All the things I need to do.
And yet I don't ever feel that I look great in jeans. The way my belly naturally curves makes the button stick out, which rumples my shirt, which is often a little too small, because I don't want to be baggy. Jeans never quite fit. And yet I keep buying jeans, hoping that one day I would magically lose weight and look totally thin and gorgeous in jeans.
Remind me-- who was it that defined "insanity" as "doing the same thing wrong 1000 times and expecting a different result?"
So today I woke up, frowned at my jeans, and dove into the closet. I came up with a long, breezy skirt that I haven't really worn since before the Biscuit's conception, since the waist isn't elastic. And it looked great. I added a black tank top and earrings, put on some makeup, wore my hair down. And felt freakin' fantastic.
I felt like a woman. Curvy, lush, billowy. I felt my hips swaying for the first time in eons. I smiled. I felt free.
So after lunch, I went to TJ Maxx and found a new shirt, a new skirt, and a dress. Things I would never have considered buying before now, because they fall outside the range of my easy, functional uniform.
All this time, I thought *I* was the problem.
All this time, I thought *I* had no fashion sense, that my body was too bulgy and curvy in all the wrong places.
All this time, I was wearing the wrong clothes.
So tomorrow, I'm going shopping in my own closet and pretending I'm on What Not to Wear. I'm going to buy some saddle soap and clean off my cowboy boots. I'm going to hunt through my jewelry box. I'm going to wear my hair down again. I'm going to toss the jeans in the corner and find a way to feel good in my clothes, like I did today.
I liked it. My husband loved it. And my daughter asked for a long, pretty skirt like mine. Best of all, I feel one step closer to the body acceptance and love I've longed for my whole life. Maybe it's time to accept that I'll never be a size 4 and start loving being a size 8.
Or maybe a 10. But who's checking labels?