Like a certain enchanted entrance into the world of Narnia, it does transform me – from bleary-eyed, ‘Hello Kitty’ onesie-wearing slob, into the semblance of a dignified woman.
I have always found a mischievous sense of delight in my wardrobe. Having been introduced to op shopping at an early age, I went through many seasons and styles of what I thought looked ‘cool’. (Thank goodness, too, because prior to that I had been a soccer-player wannabe, an Adidas jumpsuit wearing enthusiast, unsure of the slightest sense of style or fashion. Not that there is anything wrong with that… but I digress).
I discovered fish-net stockings and fuzzy woollen jumpers, tennis dresses and leather skirts. I dabbled in scarves and hats of every description, donning knee-high socks and mismatching colours with abandon.
When I entered the throes of the workforce, I stumbled upon a treasure trove of high-powered suits, just waiting to be worn in the courtroom. Frilly silk blouses and high-waisted skirts. Heels that had been worn but once, ready to click-clack a message of competence down the unforgiving hallways.
Then I became a mother. I tested out ‘comfy’ for a while, donning soft shirts and boyfriend cardigans, but it felt… strange somehow. Like I was wearing a costume for something that wasn’t quite who I was ready to be.
Who knows if my current style will ebb and flow like the previous eras. I’ve settled on classic chic – berets, skirts, dresses and tailored coats. Emanating women from decades past with my tights and sensible pumps.
I am woman, hear me roar! (or at least express myself with my clothes).
I’m trying something new this month – #Write31Days with a talented community of other writers. We free write for five minutes (or more) each day guided by a prompt. Today’s prompt is ‘wardrobe’.
For more information on 31 Days of Five Minute Free Writes, check out Christina Hubbard’s site!