Good afternoon, Thursday. If you happen to work in an office and don't care about the World Cup, now is your moment to really get some work done, because everything is at a complete standstill while fans of mine and yours gather around TVs and monitors to cheer on the good old US of A. I know it's exciting and hoping the home team wins this thing. I will admit that for the past few weeks, the collective orgasm/cheering section is a bit, well, much. (Every party has a pooper, dearies).
And speaking of being a party pooper, I've been meaning to talk with you all about something that's been plaguing me of late. I have an issue I may need an intervention to solve or maybe I need a pat on the back for a job well done. Either way, it's worth noting that lately, I have completely not given a crap about what I wear. Like, at all.
As you know, there's magazines sold on the basis of things like the "age" issue that gives you pointers on how to dress for the various decades of your life. I think when a woman starts thinking about what's age appropriate may differ for everyone, but for me, it happened a few years ago and continues to be something I occasionally think about. But then I have anxiety about it and just move on.
Now before you cry foul for me feeling bad about myself and not embracing my age, I don't feel bad and I do embrace my demography.Fortunately, I've always been a somewhat simple chic kind of girl- it's true my LBDs used to show a bit more of this and a bit more of that, but I'm still wearing them and will probably continue to do so for the rest of my years. So really, age appropriate dressing depends more on what's appropriate for you, and what's appropriate for me is a more simple palette when it comes to dress with some funky prints mixed in when I feel like it. It just makes life a whole lot easier.
But then the neurotic part of me questions that. Is easy the way to go or is easy just lazy? The other night, David and I went to see Dave Chappelle at Radio City Music Hall. For many (including us), this was a pretty big night out- the second coming of a huge talent in a beautiful setting. As I looked around at the crowd, I felt a bit smug, wondering why all of the ladies there had bothered to wear such high heels and outfits more akin to, say, a night out in Miami than an evening in New York. Thing is, here in New York, it's kind of cooler to not get dressed up than to get dressed up, if that makes sense. Somehow I find it chicer to wear jeans and sneakers to a night out, but maybe I'm kidding myself.
Because when I looked down at my own outfit, it made me feel weird.
Let's start with my hair. I had it back in a ponytail, tied with an elastic from Pure Barre. (Newsflash, Rosenberg. You're not at the gym). Next, my ratty black tee shirt was a good one (Alexander Wang) but really , it was not the freshest one I could find, just an old favorite that suited my going to work on a Summery Friday in advertising kind of vibe. Oh, and an old black blazer that could benefit from a visit to the tailor to repair some pesky liner that was creeping down past its hem. It just gets worse from here.
On my lower half? A pair of Rag and Bone pajama jeans. Yup. Have you seen these? They are totally beyond genius but wear them a few times and it surely looks like you've got a load back there. Not the cutest look. Plus, I sat in chocolate earlier in the day and did not have time to change. Yea, I know. Adorable.
On my feet? A simple pair of black sandals. Very, very flat barely there black sandals with an ankle strap from Kenneth Cole. Very minimal and cute but not terribly exciting. Certainly not stilettos and not even a wedge. Nada. Bupkus. I'm a mess. A mess with a nice pedicure (some things are sacred), but still kind of a mess.
So as I checked myself out in the bathroom before the show started, I felt a strange mix of stuff. First, I wondered how I managed to completely avoid the notion that I had big plans after work, and how I should have dressed accordingly for a date with my husband. Then I thought that just because I am well within an age group where everyone has kids, I don't. Who did I think I was dressing like a Brooklyn mother of three? How could I have screwed this up after years of carefully planned outfits? Where oh where was my mind, not to mention a non elastic waist? I had no excuse other than sheer laziness to account for my rather tepid outfit. I felt worried. Was my binge watching of "Orange is the New Black" coupled with my bear hug embrace of normcore and 90s minimalism catching up with me? Merde.
But then I had another thought- maybe it's empowering as a woman to jus say WTF and wear what's comfortable. There's something liberating abut it really- wearing a crap hair tie and some loose jeans is maybe a lot cooler than sausaging into some crazy outfit that looks like you're trying too hard. Perhaps when you get older, trying too hard is not a good look. Maybe chic basics with gobs of confidence as the perfect accessory is the perfect accessory. Maybe after years of obsessing about one's appearance it was time to call a truce with my body image and wavering self esteem. And as I looked around the bathroom and watched some twentysomething drunk on beer stumble around in sky high Louboutins and a pair of high waisted shorts that looked like they were devouring her lady parts, I felt better. After all, I was only mildly buzzed on Shark Tank Chard, and wearing comfortable shoes I could actually walk in, so there. I'm not tryin' for all that. And a life without camel toe is a pretty good life.
So how to remedy this strange sorry/not sorry approach I've taken to dressing of late? I'm not sure. But I'm taking baby steps and there's some things that still show I care- like a crazy intense skincare regime at the end of the day that is straight up Eastern European gymnast in its rigor but keeps my skin looking glowy and fresh. I've entered some ridiculous challenge at Pure Barre where I take 20 classes in 30 days (I'm 17 in and counting). Or custom making a lipstick at the Bite Bar in Soho for a little lift from the monotony of figuring out what to wear to work every day as I break my neck to get ready quickly after an early workout and lunch preparation. Or maybe it's just realizing that it wouldn't kill me to put on a high heel from time to time, as horrid as that may seem. But as far as those ratty old tees and my favorite broken down blazer, I just can't right now. you'll be happy to know I just bought two pairs of real jeans from Level 99 that are neat and have a great fit.
I think this whole issue is an interesting one. I'm well aware that using what you got to get what you want is the way of the world, it's just I have some different "gots" now than I used to have and I'm cool with it (not to mention different priorities). It's The elastic pants , however, are up for discussion. I'm willing to listen, though they do look pretty damn cool. Sort of. Now if I start wearing an oversized tee shirt with either Tweety bird or a bikini body on it, call the 5-0. I hope to never go too far down the comfort rabbit hole to wear anything that's just plain WRONG- whether you're 25 or 75. And all kidding aside, I love the neon sentiment in the photo above which perfectly sums up this whole post- forget the rules and wear what you like. For all is fair in love and fashion.
And that's what's up this dress me up, dress me down kind of Thursday in the 212. Hey, questioning one's style equity is better than buying a convertible, right? Yours, in midlife. XO