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Cool closet, right? Qualifications, part II

Closet sneak peek

No, not so much.  As indicated in an earlier post, my closet isn’t anything to crow about it.  It’s primary function right now  is storing five or six things I like a lot and twenty things I could set fire to and never miss.  It’s the closet of a messy eight-year old.

Worst offenders:

  • A white heavy linen jacket that doesn’t fit quite right, the armholes are too low.  I’ve since learned that “fit” is more than “it buttons.”
  • A yellow linen jacket, bought while thrifting that is the most glorious marigold color, that very few Caucasian women can pull off.
  • Two form fitting and flowery dresses from JC Penny’s a couple of summers ago.  A little too form fitting, even back then.   Also, too much boob on display.  A co-worker owns one of the dresses, which keeps it forever off my list.  Last thing, even though my figure looks hourglassy and va-voom, they are so constricting that I want to drive fast and mow down mailboxes, screaming.  Writing about them even makes me jittery.

Best things:

  • A Bryn Walker wool, cowl-necked asymmetrical tunic.  Sorry that I can’t find the exact item, but the Fall 2011 collection will give you an idea of this.  I would wear this every day if I could.
  • A black jersey dress from JC Penny that fits great and is sexy and can be worn to the symphony and the work holiday party.
  • Brown/blue Ikat pattern A-line skirt from the Liz Claiborne line at, you guessed it, JC Penny.

There is also a grey knit paneled skirt with knit ruching that gets lots of play from a local store, Muriel’s. A couple of decent pair of jeans, no good dress pants, no woven tops I can stand to have on me.

Key question then is – why write about fashion when my own fashion life exists in my mind almost exclusively?  My fervent hope is that by writing about it and by making it public, it will improve.  What’s hilarious about this is that the big stick is the dead last motivational tool works with me.

But I believe in fashion and the glories of adornment.  I know the difference between feeling like a second-class citizen in a shoddy outfit and a dynamite lady in a good one.  I want more good ones.  And if today, on August 26, 2012, my closet exudes confusion, disaster and criminal apathy, it will be different in a few months.  Fashion is nothing if not aspirational.  And I am aspiring like an old-time carburetor.

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