WardRObed, Day 4: Redshirted
My 5-year old daughter is dressing me for one week. Today was Day 4.
(Day 3 / Day 2 / Day 1)
Rosie always goes straight for the top right drawer of my dresser when we get down to the business of outfit selection. It’s where my shirts live, and my guess is she likes them best because the palette is much more diverse there than, say, the dim, dark Drawer of Many Blue Jeans. The shirt I wore today was already “on deck”: After picking yesterday’s outfit, Rosie went back to the shirt drawer once more and gasped when she saw the bright red and blue plaid peeking out from the bottom of a stack. “I’m totally picking that shirt tomorrow,” she said. And she did, indeed, totally pick it.
“You have to peek your sleeves out like that at the ends, that’s how people will know that shirt is all the way there when you wear a sweater. I like the socks like that because you have to show them! Oh, I also like this shirt because it is soooooo soft. Soft is important. Clothes shouldn’t feel funny or bad, because it will make you get frustrated.”
Today was the first day I thought it was obvious a 5-year old dressed me. Or at least, it was the first day I kind of hoped it would be obvious a 5-year old dressed me. (If you embiggen the picture, you’ll see my purple socks pulled up over my leggings. Plus, leggings as pants. I’m not anti-leggings-as-pants so much as I am pro-longer-than-this-shirts-when-wearing-leggings-as-pants.) Rosie definitely saw the scarf as the pièce de résistance of my ensemble, emerging from my closet during our outfit selection session and presenting it to me with a grand flourish and a gleam in her eye.
I did take off the cardigan at some point in the afternoon when it got warmer, leaving me with a redder and louder top half to my outfit. Red was in today, though, it seemed. So I was in good company.
As far as my comfort zone is concerned, today was the biggest step away from it that I’ve had to take since the project began. But after a whole day of running into acquaintances at a soccer game and socializing at a birthday party and other run-of-the-mill Saturday shenanigans, it occurred to me that even if people noticed that my style was a little wacky, they didn’t mention it. Which means that they just accepted it as who I am. Because today, it is who I am. It’s a pretty freeing thing to realize you don’t have to dress the way you think people expect you to.
Viva la plaid shirts with chevron infinity scarves! Viva la socks over leggings!
And viva la whatever clothing concoction is coming up next.
(Which is not to say that certain people who love you very much may not make pointed observations when you take a stab at changing your style. People like your caring, truth-telling sister who will point out that you look a little ridiculous when you try to wear a jumpsuit, for example, or harem pants, or shirts the same color of your pasty white skin. But you can wear those things anyway and just not tell her about it.)