WardRObed, Day 7: Go confidently in the direction of your jeans
Today marks one week of Rosie Outfits, and tomorrow will mark six years of Rosie. She’ll be picking out one last outfit for me on her birthday. I’m going to feel a little adrift on Thursday, left to my own devices to dress myself. Not gonna lie, I may still ask her for advice from time to time. (Though I may not always take it.)
A very insightful friend of mine left a comment on a previous post that I think got right down to the real substance of this whole shebang. She said, “I’ve decided that the reason that this experiment is working is because you wear whatever Rosie chooses with the same confidence with which Rosie picked it out. How awesome would it be if we all had the confidence to make choices (fashion or otherwise) that reflect who we really are?”
Amen, sister. Preach. I’ve had clothes handed to me this week that I’ve put on with one eye closed, but every time I tried on a freshly assembled ensemble, Rosie would declare that I looked awesome. So I decided to believe her. Coral necklace over plaid shirt + green jeans and black ankle boots be damned.
“I like the necklace because it’s my favorite color. And I like the shoes because they’re high heeled and a little bit more shorter. I like the shirt because it’s my favorite color—wait. Well, it’s my second favorite color. I like the squares. I think the whole outfit looks good because I pick out outfits that look good on you.”
At almost-6, confidence is not something Rosie needs a Wardrobe Challenge to find. Like a lot of kids her age, the world is still her oyster. She does what she does and she is what she is. I think most of us start out that way. And then, in appropriate developmental fashion, we realize we’re not the center of the universe (some people become aware of this more slowly than others) and we have to re-figure out how to be bold in the world. Too much confidence and we’re arrogant. Not enough, and we’re a pushover, left behind, left out. (And the boldness scale is calibrated completely differently for men than it is for women, but that’s another post for another day.)
This week’s experiment seemed to hover pretty close to the magical middle between those two places for me. I gave myself permission to dip my toe back into the waters of 6-year old abandon, and you know what? It felt mighty fine.
As we were stacking the day’s next outfit on top of my dresser this afternoon, I asked Rosie how she thought she’d feel tomorrow when the experiment was over and I went back to choosing my own clothes. She said, “Happy. Because it will be my birthday.”
Which, of course, is exactly the right answer.