Love Hurts, but Fashion Kills

I saw David and Victoria Beckham at Sheetz today.

Well, not really.  They popped into my mind, though, when I saw this young couple there browsing through the touch screen menu.  I am fascinated by people like this. Or maybe I’m jealous.  I’m still trying to decide.

The Sheetz-Beckham’s were dressed to the nines–casual yet still uber-stylish.  The woman in particular was a study in fashion.  She had perfectly “casual” blonde locks, sleek pants and perfectly picked pink shoes, two or possibly three layers of god-knows-what on top, and, Lord help us all, a thumb ring.  The guy was wearing those purposely distressed pants with the giant belt (which apparently came back into fashion at some point while I was in the motherhood cave for the past ten years–I don’t know) and a button-up shirt.  Here’s the best part–they were wearing aviator sunglasses!  They matched, except hers were rose colored (there’s a joke there, I just know it, but I’m going to let it go.)  Now, even though they looked super hip in every other aspect, I have to say I’m not a big fan of aviators.  Only one person looks hot in them, and that’s Johnny Knoxville.  I don’t know why that is, I only know it is.

Aside from the minor sunglass faux pas, they were immaculate.  I couldn’t help but cringe as I stood there in Sheetz in my usual attire–jean shorts and my Pink Floyd tee shirt (black).   They even had that cool, casual attitude that I envy so much.  Meanwhile, Ian and I were juggling onion rings and I was trying to answer the cell phone and dig in my purse for money.  All I could think was, “Who the hell are these people?”  Obviously, they don’t have kids.   Or family.  Or a house to clean.  Or grass to cut.  Or normal bodily functions, like, say, sweat, which I now produce at a rate of two gallons per hour.  Fashion, to me at least, is a little more basic.

 

Remember this from Saturday Night Live?  While I don’t rock Mom Jeans yet, this is about the level of my fashion expertise.  I don’t wear makeup.  I don’t paint my nails.  My husband has more shoes than me.  Also, I sure as hell  don’t wear aviator sunglasses.  It’s not that I don’t want to look nice–believe me, I do.  I don’t get it, though.  I’m a fashion idiot.  Oh, I can sit back and criticize other people’s fashion all day long, but I don’t apply it to myself.  I try those nifty, trendy clothes, but I always feel like some kid playing dress-up.  For whatever reason, I’m stylistically crippled.  I love to look at beautiful clothes–on other people, of course.  I think those hot little shoes just look stupid on me.  Once, I decided that I was by-God gonna paint my toenails.  I did it, then I sat for about five minutes looking down at them, and finally I freaked out and cleaned it all back off again.  It looked absolutely ridiculous.  But I don’t think other people’s feet look ridiculous when they paint their nails.  My friend and her daughters paint their nails all kinds of cool colors like blue and funky pinks and purples, and I think they look great.  I’d look like an escapee from a mental institution.

I could blame motherhood on my issues, but anyone who knows me would know this is not the absolute truth.  I’ve been this way–jeans and tee-shirts, no makeup, no style–since I was old enough to pick my own clothing.  The only difference is now I have a lot of convenient excuses.  I turn up my nose and say things like, “I don’t have time to dress nicely.  It doesn’t fit in my lifestyle.  I bathe people and feed people and change diapers and garden and use a gas powered weed-eater and ride a four-wheeler.  I can’t do those things in heels.”  The truth is, though, I’m just too chickenshit to give it a shot.  I would love to have the confidence to stroll around with cool indifference in my hot, hip shoes and painted nails and a thumb ring.

You can keep the aviators, though. I guess fashion just isn’t for me.  I’ll just sit and criticize everyone else.  It’s a lot more fun.   I’m going to go watch “Jackass.”

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