What not to wear.

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I was actively encouraged to avoid this outfit.

Aunty Pat turned 87 this week and has been granted another 2 years of driving, thanks to the RTA. I thought about her today, as I was shopping.

You see a few years ago I was at a family get together, when Aunty Pat complimented me on my dress, which was a Camilla kaftan. She asked me where I got it and so I told her.

“I was in Millers yesterday, and I didn’t see that!” she exclaimed.

The reason I thought about her was that I found myself out the front of a Miller’s  store today. All of the crazy prints and colours hurt my eyes and the polyester was completely overpowering. But there was stacks of elderly ladies in there, shopping up a storm. And that then reminded me of this one time…

I had been given a styling session as a gift to go and see an expert who would take all of my measurements, punch them into a computer and come up with a complete list of styles that would suit me.

Taking into account my colouring, along with my proportions, I was left with very little to wear. I was disappointed that unitards were not a good option for me. Neither were skivvies. I was to steer clear of any jeans of any kind. It would be preferable to be wearing stilettos at all time. There should be no colours other that beige and browns around my face. I discovered that scarves added bulk. Leggings were the devils work and any sleeve length on me should sit at my wrists, because that was the smallest point of my arm.

I was told that skirts were ok, as long as they were ankle length and black. And shorts?

“bbbwwwwhahahahahahaa”

There was something called a blouse, that might be ok. As long as it was silk, had no pockets on the boobs and preferably had 9 buttons, with the top two being undone.

I WAS NOT EVEN SUPPOSED TO THINK ABOUT A PASTEL COLOUR. DO NOT THINK ABOUT A PASTEL COLOUR……..baby blue….. FUCK.

A black, collarless, button-less blazer might be ok. Just might, depending where it falls to. I was encouraged to make sure my ass was covered. For according to the old “fruit as a shape” rule, I am considered to be a watermelon.

There were just so many rules, even right down to earrings and handbags.

She was a really lovely lady and was very keen to get me going on my trip down the super-styled highway, but it just was not meant to be.

You see I have never met a sequin that I didn’t like, and I was told that there would be no bedazzling of my body ever, so that was the final straw.

Sometimes I like to flick through the big folder that she gave me, and tick off all the things that I have in my closet that should scientifically have no business being there.

My favourite new purchase?

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Well it goes against all of my rules.

  • It is short-sleeved.
  • It has obvious embellishment.
  • It is not “structured”
  • It does not cover derriere.
  • It brings attention to myself and, perhaps more mortifying, my chesticals.
  • I can never not be found, as it sheds glitter and much like Hansel and Gretel, you just need to follow the path of gold and BOOM. There I am!

But I love it and it makes me happy and I shall wear it until the very last speck of gold bites the dust. And then some.

So wear what you want. If it makes you feel good, great. If you just don’t give a big fat rats what you get around in, HURRAH! I am of the Gilder Radner school of fashion. “I base most of my fashion taste on what doesn’t itch.” That, and glitter.

Do you give much thought to your own style?

Is there anything out there that you just refuse to don?

Style and fashion. Whats the difference?