Remember that one time,
when you were 10,
and your mom made you go to that one really fancy event and wear something "decent" so as not to be, I don't know, glared at by your 10,000 half-relatives who always somehow seemed more comfortable around each other than you'd ever feel amongst them?
That one time happened when I was 10. And 12. And 15.
And several other awkward instances in between.
And throughout these painful experiences, one thing became blatantly clear:
I . Hate . Dressing . Up.
Now, in my eyes, dressing up and "Dressing Up" are two wholly and incomparably different things. One is based upon passion, the other on obnoxious rules.
One allows for creativity,
the other frowns upon it.
Well, this one opted for the all-or-nothing approach (surprise!). Instead of indulging in decadent frilly fabrics and heeled shoes, I made my statement of protest by dressing like shit.
That's right. And said shit frequently consisted of shapeless shift dresses and terribly, terribly (,terribly) unflattering ankle-length black faux-velour maxi skirts.
(Hello every orchestra concert ever. VIOLINS REPRESENT)
Which brings me to this wee ensemble; a mini masterpiece combining my abhorrence for attention to dress codes with my obsession for ostentatious footwear (not to mention my affection for alliteration).
See, I don't do "dressy".
I do "dress down, put on cool shoes, and hope for the best".
"Dressy" makes me uncomfortable, which therefore makes me act uncomfortable, which therefore makes those around me uncomfortable as well.
I, unlike 99% of the population, prefer to be underdressed rather than overly so.
Which probably (very likely) explains why I'm poor.
Side note: It seems there was more than just stubborness behind my former self vouching for velour.
Or maybe it's nostalgia.
I don't know. This whole dressing-like-your-childhood-self thing confuses me.
|me being confused. |
dress: vintage (wang on Outnet) (cool cheap vintage), shoes: Reiss
Photos by Shoiab