I am in loathe with my wardrobe.
I’ve actually been shopping a few times in the last month with the explicit purpose of revitalizing my woefully weary threads, but it has been to no avail. Even my “sure things” (New York and Co, Anne Taylor Loft, even TARGET) seem to have nothing that works for me.
I’m sure to eventually stumble upon one of those elusive golden moments of shopping nirvana, it’s bound to happen one of these days. In the meantime, there are quite a few things taking up space in my closet and drawers that really need to go. I have a pair of black pants that I refer to as “the ugly pants”. I bought them without trying them on and they are comfy, yet hideously unflattering. And I have so many shirts, so very many shirts that I don’t even remember and never, ever wear. It’s time to purge, but before I do, I have issued a challenge upon my poor, unsuspecting co-bloggers to join me in the quitters walk of shame:
Show us your ugly clothes
Here is something pretty. Two things pretty, to be exact. But both pairs need to go. They are literally hanging on by threads. Why do the flip flop gods taunt me so?
Can you imagine the peep show I’d give if I raised my leg to complete the side push kick in these? Yowza!
First of all, Jacquie, those hot pants look pretty sassy to me. And your legs look great.
Second of all, let me get this straight. You want me to take photos of myself wearing ugly, unflattering clothes, then post them on my blog? Right. I thought so.
I have a bit of a reputation for wearing rags. It comes from living all those years on the road in our Westy. Space was limited, which is the understatement of the year, so our clothes were few, and were quickly sun-bleached and worn. Plus, I get attached to clothes and wear them until they should be used as dust rags. Once Bill was wearing a holey pair of jeans. Jacquie’s girl, who was a tiny tot at the time, put her finger in the hole and said, “Aunt Ellie’s!”
I have changed my evil ways since then, though, mostly. I am a solid citizen now, after all, with a job where I’m firmly in the public eye. Plus it improves tips if you’re not wearing washer woman clothes.
But I can rise to the challenge, and pull out a piece of clothing that’s so worn it’s really not wearable outside the walls of my home. Plus, well, it’s just so absurd. I love it though, and now that I have it on, I’m not taking it off. I may go for a bike ride wearing it.
May I present . . . .
. . . the Tiger Dress.
Sorry, I can’t seem to get the focus right and my go-to-Mistah for all things photography isn’t home.
And Jacquie? I didn’t clean my mirror either.
Blame Beth? Whaa?? They are super sassy, Jacquie. And hardly too short, they would be downright modest in a Bikram class. You better not get rid of them.
My closest is in a depressing period of readjustment. It is still halfway full of maternity clothes, the ones that still work for me, because lord knows, my real clothes do not fit yet. I took out my tank tops the other day, the ones from my life before. They appear impossibly small. Just wee little shirts. Did they ever fit?
My ugliest piece of clothing, however, has to be a pair of sweat pants, which were once black, but are now an unattractive shade of dark grey. They are about 3 inches too short. The also have bleach spots, and holes. Two holes to be exact, the larger one of which is in the crotch. Nice location, right? Talk about peep show. So, obviously, I don't wear these out of the house. Honestly, I haven't really been wearing them at all. But to my delight, they now fit much better than they used to. My new body shape is keeping these babies up just fine. See?
Hey, this are kind-of reminiscent of the ugly pants above, are they not?
And don't even be questioning the purple zebra-striped shirt above the hideous sweat pants, it's the top of my newest, softest pair of pjs.