A Few Words On Style

I’m currently sitting on my bathroom floor, like I try to on most work-days, to savor fifteen minutes of relative peace and quiet to read or write or what have you. My closet (which is conveniently located in my bathroom, lucky me) is open just a touch and I can  see a handful of colorful textiles.

It’s my dresses. It’s been over a year since I began wearing a dress just about everyday and I’ve gained quite a collection–a dress with houses, repetitive pears, floral arrangements, sweetheart-necklines, Trashy Diva-esque ripoffs, v-necks, cranberry red block-prints, you know, the works. They’re all *~fair trade~* or eco-friendly because I’ve actually purchased about 5 of the 38 dresses in the mix from the retailer themselves (shoutout Mata Traders–y’all are the best), but unfortch the rest are just from eBay because I’m a sucker for a good deal and notoriously cheap about 98% of things (until I bought a $138 thin-ass fair trade kantha quilt that’s ripping like mad–don’t ask).

You know what I have to say about my personal fashion at this precise moment in time?

I’m fucking sick of wearing dresses. 

I thought this issue of being sick of my wardrobe could be dealt with by buying MORE ~*ethical*~ dresses. So I bought some more shit off eBay knowing I didn’t *really* need it, but that it would make me ~feel~ better about my flailing sense of goodness in my everyday wear. Buying more shit didn’t really make me any happier. Instead, I notice that since I wear a dress every. fucking. day. No one seems to notice that there is a variety that has been curated exhaustively with a whopping $112 dollars, aka about $8 each on these lightly used eBay goods. I don’t receive many compliments on the dresses like I did when I would first wear them so I’m perma-convinced I smell like armpit and frustration. The reason I can get away with wearing a dress everyday (I know, first world problems) is because it’s so GOD FORSAKEN HOT in New Orleans and I have to let some ventilation in somewhere.

The other day in a desperate attempt to not have to wear a dress for the 385th day in a row, I put on a gray racerback sports bra, a black cami tucked into these weird purple elephant print shorts I got on eBay and a thrift store kimono with tassles that got fucked up in the wash that I had to trim like a wet dog. At one point boyf looked at me–in all of my red-faced, sweaty-upper-lip, poufy-hair, what-the-fuck-are-you-wearing glory–and said “You look like a hot mess.”

And I fucking fell in love with him MORE, because I WILL look like a hot mess just to TRY NOT to wear a dress. Christ, the other day I was depressed and wore a long sleeve black shirt, cami, black leggings and boots to work—IT WAS 95 DEGREES. I would do anything to wear a well-justified layer into the world, JUST ONE.

I know, I know–“suck it up blogger, just wear some pants.” Yeah, it’s hot as balls down here, I can’t. Jeans are made by the devil himself. I have, however, gained an affinity for skirts that I can wear below my boobs and tuck a cami into as well as the *gasp* combo of a t-shirt and Target shorts.

Why did I gain this dress fascination, you may ask? Well, in March of 2016 I visited New Orleans on vacation and balled out and ate everything, per usual. I gained literally ten pounds on vacation, my double chin went to a quadruple-chin, I actually got heartburn and I couldn’t fathom another day of wearing my everyday combo of see-thru leggings, a long cami and a t-shirt, because that was my everyday outfit back then because fat. I lost some weight (a pretty good amount, too–like 25 pounds) and because I’ve always been a chunkster and had to subdue my true urges in fashion from the age of birth, I basically went hog wild when I realized Mata dresses could ACTUALLY fit me now. Like, goddamn, I could slap on a dress and waltz around Chicago and gay dudes (who typically intimidate THE FUCK out of me after a handful in Boystown made comments to me indicating that I’m a gross cow as I walked by while they sipped Bloody Marys at Sunday brunch) would stop me in the street saying, “Is that Mata, OMG YOU LOOK GREAT.”

I wanted to let myself feel all those good things all the time about what I could finally wear. Plus, I was big into ethical clothing at the time (i.e. instead of a shitty taffeta TJMaxx top sewn at the hands of a Bangledeshi 5 year old for 12 cents, opt for the non-organic cotton dress sewn by a sixteen year old Indian girl for $5. Does it really make a difference?….I think?) and I couldn’t afford it because I made more money in my high school grocery store gig than I did for two years post-college, so when I could actually buy things with a big people hourly I wanted to ball.

Needless to say, I’m not shitting on dresses or fair trade or whatever there could be for me to theoretically shit on. I just despise looking at these dresses because I want to wear cheap Modcloth t-shirts with pictures of cats on them. I want just about everything on Society6. I want to go into Old Navy and get jeans because fuck it, you live once and if you can’t find fair trade tampons I think the Gods will forgive you for a pair of pants that *actually* make you happy.

I think I might haul some of these XL dresses down the street to the Buffalo Exchange soon. Even if it’s not my thing anymore, who knows who would be delighted to wear a button-up brand new shirtdress covered in pears (you’re welcome).


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