The Dress Up Trunk

I've been trying to deny who I am for years. My obsession with clothing can be traced back to my Grandmother, Irene, whose closet I miss almost as much as her cooking. I can safely say that she probably never wore the same outfit twice. I was the youngest grandchild and naturally I was spoiled. My mother has documented proof that I never wore the same outfit to Kindergarten twice. If I got mud on an outfit, I would demand to be taken back inside and changed from the inside out. Of course, I went through the angsty middle school/high school change where I wore flannel and black eyeliner, but thankfully I grew out of that about the time I was getting ready to graduate school.

My shopping addiction (DEFINITELY inherited from Grandma) is one reason my family tends to moan and groan about my ever expanding wardrobe. When I was moving into my most recent apartment, my boyfriend Matt had to haul in suitcase after suitcase after suitcase of my clothes and shoes. He didn't complain, but I could see the realization in his eyes sink in, that if we were ever to get married, he would have *at the most* one drawer for his stuff. My mother never could stomach looking at my bank statements, my father has all but disowned me and my best friend K constantly tries to remind that I am not the clothes I wear.

They are all right in their way. There is more to me than this obsession. But I don't know what yet. I'm above average in terms of intelligence. I'm currently working on my 2nd Master's Degree in French. (France. One of the largest clothes industries in the world) I love theatre. I work at an Art Museum. I like to read and travel. I love eating exciting new foods and learning new things. So, in a way, it doesn't make sense that I would concern myself with such trivial nonsense as the cloth we wear on our bodies. They tell me that "It's okay to dress professionally, sweetheart, but there's no need to own ten of the same shirt in ten different colors."

Truth.


But there is some sort of euphoric happiness from ripping off that tag the first time you wear something. Going to vintage consignment stores is like going on a quest for treasure. Being photographed dressed in 1940s pin-up style, while slightly narcissistic, makes me smile. I am far from vapid. But I'm somewhere in between worldly feminist and an M-R-S degree searching trophy girl. I'm right dead in the middle, and it works just fine for me.

I try to balance out my time between school, work and extracurriculars (Can you still use the word extracurricular when you're 27?). I have tried to blog about my adventures in every day life, but it ALWAYS comes back to clothing, critiquing someone's red carpet look, or even so far as the political realm (Usually wondering what Michelle Obama will wear). So, I've decided not to fight it anymore. Just to be clear, I will not be a Carrie Bradshaw wannabe. I will not talk at length about the struggles I face in life, dispense relationship advice, or talk in graphic detail about my sex life. I will, however, talk about watch catches my eye. For example. Check out this coat, on sale at Anthropologie. (one of my favorite websites)


Gorgeous, huh? And at 79.95 it's a STEAL (for Anthropologie). It would be just perfect for riding in an open top convertible with your husband (the president of course) right before he gets his brains blown out.

Too soon?

Anyways, I hope to keep up with this blog, instead of letting it go. But hopefully since I'm focusing more on my interests, I feel this might be a successful venture.


-The clothes don't make the woman, but they can sure make the journey a LOT more fabulous.-