None of us ever want to admit we have a type. No matter how much our friends say we’re predictable, we want to believe that we’re all open minded and never shallow enough as to gravitate towards a formulaic list of characteristics. And yet, when you look back at your track record, chances are there is an inevitable pattern…
I’ve never really been a hat person. There are a million reasons for this, not the least of which is my abnormally large head (I swear, most hats sit on top of my head. Literally, perched). Truth is, I’ve never been a fan of how I looked in hats. I’ve branched out a few times for the perfect vintage hat (case in point), but it’s definitely been a fashion category I have yet to fully exploit.
There’s a big part of me that gets a complete kick out of dressing in themes. And I don’t mean in a costume sense (though I can rock a Dorothy moment like nobodies’ business). I mean that if I see a seaside print I start having visions of starfish necklaces and glittery seafoam heels. Florals instantly have me reaching for a butterfly purse. Red gingham and I simply can’t help but don my apple necklace and a basket bag, just to look like a human picnic.
Ever since I was young, I’ve been obsessed with Broadway musicals. While my sister was rocking out to the latest boy band, I was belting out showtunes in my bedroom. And I knew them all: I languished over Les Miserables, playing Eponine and her unrequited love. I was Christine, both fearful of the Phantom and hypnotized by his music. I hopped and skipped around the furniture to Cats, rode the horses in Carousel, and allowed myself to be eaten by the greed of Audrey 2 in Little Shop of Horrors. It’s safe to say I was a dramatic teenager.
When I was a kid, we weren’t allowed to eat “sugar cereals” outside of a special treat. And in our house, a sugar cereal meant anything where sugar was the first or second ingredient on the nutrition panel. I remember scouring box after box in the breakfast aisle, crossing my fingers. But, alas, none of the ones you want as a kid – from the cartoon bunny to the adorable bumble bee – would make the cut. So, Cheerios and Rice Checks were plentiful in my house, but many a chocolatey count or crunchy captain were relegated to staying in the…
There’s a way that we in the vintage-community refer to The Dress That Got Away. Either we saw it for sale but were a second too slow, or we found it in a size that would fit only one leg, or we spied it from afar on someone else, only to forever be burned in our brain. We refer to these elusive creatures as our Unicorn – whether it actually exists in nature in our size, to cross our path at the right time, we may never know. But that doesn’t mean we ever give up the hunt.
You know how some clothing items are simply practical? You buy them for specific purposes – like gardening clothes or what you wear to the gym. Trainers for running or a business suit for work. Utilitarian and an important part of any wardrobe. And then there are other kinds of clothes. The ones of whimsy and sass. Of color and exuberance. And those dresses are pure fairy tale…
On more than one occasion, I have committed flowercide. Okay, it’s been more than 12 occasions. I don’t know what it is, but gardening just doesn’t reside in my veins. And I always start out with the best of intentions. A few weeks ago, Mr. Dressed and I went out and selected some lovely flowering plants to speckle our garden and front patio. Pinks and purples and creams. It was a flowering paradise. For about 2 weeks. I’m sad to say that this week our porch looks like a horticulture crime scene.
Okay, I’m going to level with you. Occasionally, pants happen. Now, before you think that the fabric of the universe has started to unravel or I’ve been possessed by some trouser-wearing demon, those days are few and far between. They are usually reserved for things like moving house, field work, and traveling. Or if it’s a Dark Day (in which case, best to just walk on by). But, there is one other event that I rarely ever speak of: and it’s when a pair of trousers is just too darn cute to pass up.
The passage of time is a funny thing. Before I had this blog, I wasn’t quite as aware of it as I am now, with a daily chronicle of events and outfits to flip through. Even more jarring can be how quickly time seems to jump between things, taking a moment from new to part of the past very quickly. The other day, I caught myself telling someone we had just moved here from Australia, forgetting that we have actually been here over 8 months. I guess we have to start saying we live here now, letting AUS be a part…