|Image by chaoticartworks.|
While I examine each piece of clothing, I imagine the previous owners as women who have acquired a new attitude, gained weight, or thrown a "flat dry" item in the dryer by mistake. Her tragedy is my treasure.
Going to the mall seems too easy, like shooting fish in a barrel. I like the challenge of sorting through racks and racks of undesirable clothing until I find a hidden gem.
I tell myself that my fashion sense evokes the artsy-intellectual archetype. However, sometimes another person will post a picture of me on a social media site, startling me into the realization that my risk-taking shopping method has led me to commit a fashion faux pas.
Exhibit A: I attended a walk-a-thon fundraiser during the Summer of 2012 and wore cotton pants that I bought at a thrift store, believing that I would look youthful, fun, energetic and creative.
|Exhibit A: Fashion Disaster|
Instead, I look frumpy and underdressed. I appear to be wearing my pajamas. Since I bought them at a thrift shop, they could very well be pajama pants or scrubs. My willing them to be lightweight summer capris will not actually change their nature.
I have misunderstood the real nature of an item of clothing before.
A few years ago, I found a pair of grey leggings at a thrift store. I wore them for three winters, paired with over sized sweaters until I visited family who live out of state. My sister Julie asked me, "Why are you wearing thermal underwear without pants over them?" Oops. I suppose the tag indicating Eddie Bauer Ebtek might have tipped me off. Well, they were very warm.
Lesson learned? When striving for the bohemian look, I walk a fine line between that and circus clown.
Fortunately, I sometimes have great success scavenging a shiny object that situates me closer to the "ravishing beauty" side of the spectrum instead of the opposing "raving bag lady" side. Photos on social media have also convinced me that I must wear make up as I move into my Second Act. I foolishly believe that I can skip the make up and project a sporty, natural look in my 50s. Absolutely not. I just look a decade older without a splash of color on my lips, cheeks and eyelids.
|Exhibit B: A Reasonable Fashion Success|
I found this beautiful hand-embroidered top at a thrift shop. Although I bought it used, the top still had the tags on it, indicating that it was hand made in India. And I actually managed my time so that I could style my hair and apply make up in addition to assembling a southwest salad to bring with us.
When I do gather available materials to my advantage, I want to crow with delight. My feathers may be a little more ruffled than when I was in my youth, but this wizened bird knows how to sort through the detritus of others and claim something of value for herself.
Embracing My Age
The Senior Discount: A Matter of Fashion
Daphne and Carmen: Octogenarian Super Models
This post is part of a GenFab blog hop. Want to see other women committing fashion crimes? Since the linky of 30+ posts expired, here is a sampler from the blog hop:
- "Being Ugly Wasn't Enough for this Suit." Ronna Benjamin. Better After 50.
- "What Am I, A Farmer?" Donna Highfill. Dame Nation.
- "Timeless Tips from a Fashionista" Connie McCloud. My Creative Journey.
Ready for more true fashion crimes?
Huffington Post compiled a slide show of 23 blog post from GenFab.