Not so daily outfit and thoughts.
I dyed my hair black. I did it because I broke up with the Other Boyfriend. (It leaves me with only one boyfriend.)
Last night I went out in a vintage inspired dress of black chiffon over a black slip, nude fishnets, and black t-strap spectators. I did fifties makeup, it’s amazing how glam red lipstick makes you feel.
There’s a sort of devastating emotional honesty to dressing. You pick clothes that express how you’re feeling, who you want to be. That project things about yourself, but they’re tiny details. You focus on the smallest parts of yourself, little facets of a greater person. That fantastic vintage inspired dress says you’re a romantic or a femme fatale. It doesn’t reveal your vulnerability, or the way your heart is breaking. That fantastic string of pearls that you wear with your metal t-shirts says you’re secretly a girly-girl, but it doesn’t tell anyone that you know how to change a tire.
Clothes, then, become the way of painting who we want the world to see us as. It’s one of the reasons I’m so frustrated by the lack of options for a “girl of size” such as myself. I’m a weird inbetweenie, some of the most hideous of the “fat girl” options fit, but mostly I find myself picking over already picked through racks in an attempt to find something that fits that doesn’t project “I’m a fat girl who hates herself and is ashamed of her body” to the world. Because regardless of how I feel, that’s not how I want people to see me.
And so, last night, in the wake of a break up, I put on clothes that said I was fine and makeup that made me look it, and I went out and faced the world. Because that’s how I wanted to be seen.
Tags: Style